r 


Tales  from  McClure's 


Tales  from  McClure's 


HUMOR 

BURGLARS    THREE 
By  JAMES  HARVEY    SMITH 

THE   JONESES'   TELEPHONE 
By  ANNIE  HOWELLS  FRECHETTE 

A    YARN    WITHOUT    A    MORAL 
By  MORGAN  ROBERTSON 

THE    KING   OF   BOYVILLE 

By  WILLIAM  ALLEN  WHITE 

THE  MERRY   THANKSGIVING   OF    THE 

BURGLAR   AND  PLUMBER 

By  OCTAVE  THANET 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  DULLTOWN 
BY  JAMES  W.  TEMPLE 

FAIRY   GOLD 
By  MARY  STEWART  CUTTING 


NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY   &    McCLURE    CO. 

1897 


Copyright,  1897,  by 

DOUBLEDAY   &   McCLURE   Co. 


MCCLURE  PRESS, 
New  YorJk  City. 


CONTENTS 


PA 

Burglars  Three     .....        I 
BY  JAMES  HARVEY  SMITH 

The  Joneses'  Telephone         .          .          -35 
BY  ANNIE  HOWELLS  FRECHETTE 

A  Yarn  without  a  Moral        .          .          •      55 
BY  MORGAN   ROBERTSON 

The  King  of  Boyville    .          .          .          .71 
BY  WILLIAM  ALLEN   WHITE 

The  Merry  Thanksgiving  of  the   Burglar 
and  Plumber     .  .  .  .  95 

BY  OCTAVE   THANET 

The  Romance  of  Dulltown     .          .          .127 
BY  JAMES   W.    TEMPLE 

Fairy  Gold  .          .          .          .          .    1  59 

BY  MARY  STEWART  CUTTING 


M222596 


BURGLARS 
THREE 


r  Sa  usual  thing,  when 
they  cracked  a  crib, 
one  of  the  three  remained 
outside  to  warn  with  a 
whistle,   or  some    other 
previously  concerted  sig 
nal,  his   companions  in 
side.     But  on  this  occa 
sion,   when  Jim   Baxter 
opened  the  simple  catch 
that  fastened  the  wood 
shed  door,  and  thence  gained  ac 
cess  to  the  interior  of  the  house, 
Wilson  Graham  and  Harry  Montgomery 
'     followed  softly  after  him.     This  breach 
3 


TALES  FROM  MeCLURE'S 

of  burglarious  custom  was  probably  due  to 
tho  fact  that  the  Braithwait  mansion  was  in 
the  suburbs,  some  distance  from  the  road, 
and  several  hundred  yards  from  the  nearest 
house. 

Once  inside,  Mr.  Graham  lighted  the  gas, 
and  it  was  then  the  work  of  a  very  few  min 
utes  to  open  the  sideboard  and  subtract 
therefrom  the  family  silver,  and  place  it  in 
a  bag  brought  for  that  purpose.  While  this 
operation  was  taking  place  Montgomery  made 
a  tour  of  the  upper  rooms. 

"  I  don't  exactly  like  to  trust  Harry  up 
stairs,"  remarked  Baxter,  in  a  surly  tone, 
after  he  had  securely  tied  the  mouth  of  the 
bag.  "  He  is  too  soft.  Like  as  not  he  '11  go 
and  git  sentimental  over  a  picture  or  some- 
thin',  or  maybe  git  a-thinkin'  of  his  mother, 
and  leave  half  the  ornyments." 

Graham,  who  had  just  opened  a  pearl-inlaid 
secretaire,  and  was  possessing  himself  of 
numerous  valuable  trinkets,  laughed  softly 
as  he  replied: 

"  I  don't  think  so,  Jim.  Only  yesterday  I 
gave  the  boy  a  good  talking  to,  and  he  prom- 
4 


BURGLARS  THREE 

ised  to  attend  strictly  to  business  in  future. 
You  must  remember  he  is  young,  and  unless 
we  give  him  a  chance,  how  is  he  to  learn? 
Of  course,  if  there  was  a  young  girl  in  the 
house— but  there  is  n't,"  he  added  quickly, 
observing  the  wrathful  frown  on  his  compan 
ion's  face.  "  I  made  certain  that  the  only 
people  who  sleep  in  the  house  are  Mr.  Braith- 
wait  and  the  housekeeper,  who  is  rather  old 
and  nearly  deaf.  The  rest  of  the  family  are 
in  Florida  for  their  health.  If  Braithwait 
makes  a  disturbance,  I  reckon  Harry  can 
settle  him  without  any  sentimental  non 


sense." 


"  I  'd  settle  him,"  muttered  Baxter,  surlily. 

"  You  're  a  savage,  Jim,"  said  Graham,  re 
proachfully.  "How  often  have  I  told  you 
that  there  is  no  virtue  in  violence  ?  Have  n't 
I  convinced  you  that  the  easy  way  is  the  safe 
way?" 

:<  Yah!  Don't  give  me  no  more  of  that!" 
said  Baxter,  contemptuously.  "I  ain't  no 
missionary." 

At  this  juncture,  when  the  argument 
threatened  to  develop  into  a  quarrel,  peace 
5 


i  AIN'T  NO  MISSIONARY!'" 


BURGLARS   THREE 

was  restored  by  the  reappearance  of  the 
young  burglar,  carrying  a  considerable  quan 
tity  of  jewelry,  loose  and  in  boxes,  while  he 
softly  whistled  "  M'Appari." 

"  Not  a  bad  haul,"  observed  Graham,  turn 
ing  over  the  plunder  as  it  lay  on  the  table. 
"Two  watches?" 

"They  're  them  little  tickers  what  the 
girls  carry,"  said  Baxter,  scornfully.  "  We 
won't  get  two  dollars  apiece  for  'em." 

" Won't  we,  though!"  said  Graham,  smil 
ing.  "  They  are  gold,  and  there  is  an  inscrip 
tion  on  each.  That  means  a  fancy  reward, 
or  I  don't  know  human  feminine  nature.  Two 
brooches,  a  necklace— h'm—h'm— very  good 
indeed." 

"  There  was  no  money,"  remarked  Harry, 
adjusting  his  necktie  before  the  mirror,  and 
giving  his  small  blond  mustache  a  curl. 

"  I  expected  as  much,"  commented  Graham, 
storing  away  the  trinkets  in  his  pockets. 
"  Braithwait  has  a  hundred  with  him,  I  dare 
say,  but  it  is  n't  worth  the  risk.  If  we  kill 
a  man  in  the  city  it 's  soon  forgotten,  but  in 
the  suburbs  it  creates  a  regular  panic.  The 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

neighbors  hire  detectives  and  follow  a  man 
all  over  creation,  and  you  can't  buy  them  off 
or  compromise  the  matter— money  is  no  ob 
ject.  That  's  why  I  keep  telling  Jim— 

"Let  up,  will  ye!"  exclaimed  Baxter, 
roughly.  "I  ain't  killin'  nobody,  am  I?" 

"Certainly  not;  but  I  only  say— 

"  Say  nothin' !    Where  's  the  feed-box  ?  " 

Mr.  Graham  groaned,  and  looked  at  his 
young  accomplice  in  comical  alarm. 

"I  knew  how  it  would  be!  Jim,  these 
luncheons  will  be  the  ruin  of  us  all,  some 
night." 

"  Can't  help  it,"  retorted  Baxter,  doggedly. 
"  It 's  a  good  four-mile  walk  from  the  city, 
and  as  much  back,  and  we  had  n't  anythin' 
but  a  snack  for  supper.  A  man 's  got  to  eat, 
and  when  I  'm  hungry— 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  other,  with  a  ges 
ture  of  impatience,  "  if  it  must  be,  it  must. 
Harry,  see  to  the  wine,  and  we  will  find  the 
substantials.  Now,  Jim,  do  be  careful  of  the 
dishes,  and  don't  grunt  and  puff  while  you  're 
eating.  It 's  vulgar." 

Jim  Baxter  grunted  and  puffed  at  this,  but 
8 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

made  no  other  reply  as  he  busied  himself 
spreading  the  contents  of  the  refrigerator 
on  the  dining-room  table,  while  Harry  from 
the  sideboard  produced  a  decanter  of  whisky 
and  three  bottles  of  claret.  There  was  a 
nice  piece  of  cold  ham,  some  tongue,  cheese 
and  pickles,  bread  and  butter,  anchovies  and 
sardines,  a  bottle  of  olives,  and  the  remains 
of  an  oyster-pie. 

"  Quite  a  lay-out,"  remarked  Baxter,  with 
a  ravenous  chuckle.  "  D'  ye  remember  the 
house  at  Barleytown  where  there  was  n't 
nothin'  but  graham  crackers  and  winegar  in 
the  box?" 

"  I  should  say  so,"  exclaimed  Graham,  with 
a  look  of  disgust. 

"  Some  people  are  too  mean  to  live,"  re 
turned  Baxter,  savagely.  "Come,  shove 
over  that  decanter,  and  let  's  pitch  in. 
Fingers,  gents,  'cause  there  ain't  nothin' 
but  silver  knives  and  forks  in  this  house, 
unless  I  take  'em  out  of  the  bag,  which  1 
ain't  doin'.  Here  'sluck!" 

"  Excellent  claret,  Wilson,"  said  the  young 
burglar,  holding  his  glass  up  to  the  light. 
10 


BURGLARS   THREE 

"  Genuine  Medoc,"  returned  Graham,  with 
the  air  of  a  connoisseur.  "  That 's  the  worst 
of  this  business;  not  one  gentleman  out  of 


"EXCELLENT  CLARET,'  SAID  HARRY." 

ten  is  a  judge  of  wine.     Now,  the  whisky  - 

"  The  whisky 's  all  right,"  interrupted  Bax 
ter,  curtly.     "All  whisky  's  good;  some  's 
11 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

better  'n  others,  but  it  's  all  good.     Blow 
claret!" 

"  No  style  about  Jim,"  said  Harry,  with  a 
smile  that  was  half  a  sneer. 

"No;  you  bet  there  ain't,"  said  Baxter, 
stolidly.  "  You  oughter  call  me  '  Old  Busi 
ness/  'cause  that 's  what  I  am.  Pass  them 
pickles." 

It  was  a  most  interesting  sight.  At  the 
head  of  the  table  sat  Graham,  a  smooth 
faced,  well-fed  man  of  forty,  who  might  have 
passed  for  a  prosperous  banker  or  a  man  liv 
ing  on  an  annuity.  To  his  right  reclined 
rather  than  sat  young  Montgomery,  a  spruce 
and  slender  fellow  with  soft  blue  eyes,  tremu 
lous  lips,  and  light  hair,  neatly  brushed.  Op 
posite  Graham  sat  Baxter,  a  coarse,  shaggy, 
grimy  man,  of  uncertain  age,  with  small, 
shifty  eyes,  a  heavy  beard,  and  a  general 
air  of  brutal  strength.  Had  it  not  been  for 
the  fact  that  each  man  wore  his  hat,  and 
that  the  bag  of  stolen  goods  lay  on  one 
corner  of  the  table,  it  might  have  been 
taken  for  a  small  stag-party,  Graham  per 
sonating  the  host  to  perfection. 
12 


BURGLARS   THREE 

The  resemblance  was  lost,  however,  a 
moment  later.  The  door  leading  to  the 
back  stairway,  directly  behind  Jim  Baxter, 
opened  and  revealed  a  spare  man  with  long 
blond  whiskers,  wearing  gold  eye-glasses 
and  a  flowered  dressing-gown. 

Graham  was  the  first  to  see  the  intruder, 
and  his  exclamation  of  astonishment  caused 
Baxter  to  turn  his  head.  In  an  instant  that 
worthy  was  on  his  feet,  with  a  pistol  in  his 
hand.  Graham  was  quicker,  however,  and 
before  his  companion  could  raise  the 
weapon  he  seized  his  arm  and  pushed  him 
aside. 

"  No  violence,  Jim,"  he  said  sternly. 

"  I  war  n't  goin'  to  shoot/'  growled  Jim. 
"  I  was  only  goin'  to  give  him  a  crack  on 
the  head." 

"I  won't  have  it,"  returned  Graham,  au 
thoritatively.  "  Sit  down." 

Baxter  put  up  his  pistol  and  sat  down. 
Graham  then  turned  to  the  spare  gentleman, 
who  had  not  moved  from  the  doorway  during 
this  episode. 

"Mr.  Braithwait,  I  presume?" 


^^^^s^'^f^p^^J 

•    *  .  i^saifeA«tatiaaaa^aa^a«^-£tega5Bffigsg^ 


w 
o 


BURGLARS   THREE 

"That  is  my  name,"  was  the  composed 
reply.  "Burglars,  I  presume?" 

"  The  presumption  is  correct.  Will  you 
take  a  seat?" 

Mr.  Braithwait  sat  down  opposite  young 
Montgomery,  to  whom  he  bowed  gravely. 
There  was  then  a  moment  of  silence,  broken 
by  Graham,  who  had  resumed  his  place  at 
the  head  of  the  table. 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  he,  ''you  have  made 
your  appearance,  as  we  can't  very  well 
apologize  for  our  intrusion." 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  said  Mr.  Braithwait, 
smiling.  "  Yet  I  am  rather  pleased  that  I 
did  come,  since  I  always  enjoy  an  unusual 
experience." 

"  Glad  you  enjoy  it,"  muttered  Baxter;  but 
no  one  listened  to  him. 

"I  was  aroused  by  the  reflection  of  the 
gaslight  in  the  upper  hall,"  explained  Mr. 
Braithwait,  "  and  I  supposed  that  the  house 
keeper  had  left  it  burning— she  has  done  so 
more  than  once.  I  came  down  to  extinguish 
it.  I  heard  voices  in  this  room,  and  I 
entered." 

15 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

"  At  the  risk  of  your  life,"  observed  Gra 
ham,  with  a  significant  glance  at  Baxter,  who 
had  resumed  eating. 

"  I  did  not  think  of  that,"  said  Mr.  Braith- 
wait,  simply.     "  My  life  has  been  threatened 
so  often— you  know  I  am  a  railroad  man- 
that  I  give  little  thought  to  the  risk  of  an 
undertaking.     Professionals,  I  suppose?" 

He  looked  at  Montgomery,  who  nodded 
nonchalantly  and  lighted  a  cigarette. 

Mr.  Braithwait  coughed. 

"  I  wish  you  would  n't,"  he  said  deprecat- 
ingly.  "  Apart  from  the  looks,  I  can't  bear 
cigarette-smoke.  There  's  a  box  of  very  fine 
Conchas  on  the  sideboard.  Thank  you  " — to 
Graham— "if  you  will  join  me?— thank  you 
again." 

Graham  laughed  with  genuine  enjoyment, 
yet  without  vulgarity. 

"  I  like  you,"  he  said  frankly,  "  and  I  am 
sorry  that,  in  the  line  of  business—  He 
waved  his  cigar  at  the  bag. 

"Of  course^yes,  of  course;  I  know  that 
can't  be  helped,"  said  Mr.  Braithwait,  smok- 
16 


BURGLARS   THREE 

ing  away  easily;  "  and  that 's  another  reason 
why  I  'm  glad  I  came.  I  suppose  you  have 
in  that  bag  some  trinkets  belonging  to  my 
wife  and  daughters  that  have  a  special  value 
as  mementos.  I  hear  that  you  gentlemen 
are  frequently  forced  to  sell  your  plunder  at 
a  simply  ruinous  sacrifice,  and  it  occurred  to 
me  that  if  we  could  come  to  some  arrange 
ment—you  understand?" 

"  Perfectly,"  answered  Graham.  "  It  can 
be  done,  and  I  will  open  negotiations  at  an 
early  date— provided,  of  course,"  he  added 
severely,  "  that  you  play  fair." 

"  That  is  understood.  As  a  business  man 
I  accept  the  situation.  My  loss  is  your  gain." 

At  this  the  youngest  burglar  broke  silence 
for  the  first  time. 

"  You  are  a  philosopher,"  he  said  in  a  tone 
of  admiration. 

"What  sensible  man  is  not?"  responded 
Mr.  Braithwait,  cheerfully.  "  I  suppose  it  is 
capable  of  proof  that  the  accumulated  wis 
dom  of  the  ancients  amounts  simply  to  the 
homely  proverb, '  What  can't  be  cured  must 
17 


TALtiS  FROM  McCLURE'S 

be  endured/  My  business  is  a  sort  of  war, 
and  I  have  my  defeats  as  well  as  my  victories. 
I  must  bear  them  both  with  equanimity." 

"So  is  ours,"  said  the  youngest  burglar. 
"As  Horace  says  in  his  'Epistles/  'Caedi- 
mur,  et  totidem  plagis  consumimus  hostem.' " 

"Permit  me,"  returned  Mr.  Braithwait, 
"  to  reply  with  Catullus: '  Nil  mihi  tarn  valde 
placeat,  Rhamnusia  virgo,  quod  temere  in- 
vitis  suscipiatur  heris.' " 

Montgomery  flushed  slightly,  and  Baxter 
growled  an  incoherent  protest  against  the 
use  of  foreign  languages. 

"  Of  course  I  do  not  claim  that  I  enjoy  be 
ing  robbed,"  continued  Mr.  Braithwait,  "  but 
I  realize  that  it  is  not  as  bad  as  it  might  be. 
Last  week  you  would  have  caught  me  with' 
two  thousand  in  cash  in  the  house,  and  last 
month  you  would  have  horribly  scared  my 
wife  and  daughters." 

"Not  for  worlds,"  murmured  Mr.  Mont 
gomery. 

"  Well,  you  might  have  done  so — women 
have  such  a  detestation  of  robbers,  except 
when  they  are  in  jail.  The  pleasure  of  your 
18 


BURGLARS   THREE 

visit— I  hinted  that  I  could  extract  pleasure 
from  adversity— lies  in  the  fact  that  it  brings 
me  in  contact  with  a  profession  I  have  pre 
viously  known  only  by  hearsay.  I  suppose  I 
may  take  it  for  granted  you  gentlemen  are 
experts?" 

"  We  Ve  been  there  before,"  said  Baxter, 
coarsely. 

"  If  an  experience  of  fourteen  years  is  any 
guaranty,  then  I  am  an  expert,"  said  Graham, 
with  a  certain  air  of  pride  in  his  tones.  "  Our 
friend  there"— nodding  at  Baxter— "has,  I 
believe,  been  in  the  profession  since  child 
hood;  while  Mr." — indicating  Montgomery 
with  his  cigar— "you  '11  excuse  my  not  men 
tioning  names?— is  a  beginner.  A  skilled 
workman,  I  admit,  but  this  is  only  his  second 
year." 

"I  don't  wonder  that  he  "—and  Mr.  Braith- 
wait  glanced  slightly  at  Baxter— "remains 
in  the  business;  but  that  you  should  follow 
the  vocation  for  fourteen  years  surprises  me 
greatly." 

"Indeed?"  queried  Graham,  with  percep 
tible  stiffness.     "Why?" 
19 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

"  Because  you  appear  to  be  a  sensible  man, 
and  I  should  not  think  the  business  would 
pay.  What  is  your  annual  income  as  a 
burglar?" 


"'WHAT  is  YOUR  ANNUAL  INCOME  AS  A  BURGLAR?"' 

"On  an  average,  I  should  say  three  thou 
sand  a  year." 

"And  you  are  an  expert!  I  receive  six 
thousand  a  year,  and  I  am  only  assistant 
general  freight  agent,  and  have  been  but 
20 


BURGLARS   THREE 

twelve  years  in  the  business.  Then  I  may 
infer  that  these  two  gentlemen  make  much 
less  than  three  thousand?" 

"  I  've  seen  the  week  when  I  did  n't  make 
hod-carrier's  wages,"  growled  Baxter,  who 
had  now  finished  eating,  and  was  preparing 
to  smoke  a  black  wooden  pipe. 

"  You  're  not  so  sensible  as  I  thought,"  re 
joined  Mr.  Braithwait,  frankly.  "  I  can  easily 
imagine  a  man  exposing  himself  to  dreadful 
dangers  and  cruel  privations  when  there  is 
a  great  prize  in  view.  An  explorer  like 
Stanley,  a  pioneer  like  Pike  or  Fremont,  a 
conqueror  like  Cortez,  or  a  revolutionist  like 
Washington,  could  well  brave  hardship  and 
peril,  when  success  meant  wealth  as  well  as 
the  plaudits  of  their  fellow-men.  The  early 
settlers  of  this  and  every  other  country,  the 
gold-hunters  of  '49,  the  pirates  who  ravaged 
the  seas,  all  were  actuated  by  the  hope  of  a 
fortune  at  one  swoop;  but  to  risk  prison,  to 
say  nothing  of  life  itself,  for  a  day-laborer's 
wages!—' 

"But,"  spoke   up   Montgomery,   quickly, 
"  there  is  fame,  if  not  fortune." 
21 


TALES  FROM  McGLURE'S 

"  Pardon  me.     In  what  way?  " 

"  In  the  usual  way.  Who  has  not  heard 
of  Hickey,  the  man  who  cracked  twenty 
banks  before  they  tripped  him  up?  Peters, 
the  New  England  cracksman?  Bronthers,  the 
Chicago  expert?" 

"  I  hope,"  said  Mr.  Braithwait,  gently,  "  I 
won't  offend  you  when  I  say  I  never  heard  of 
those  gentlemen." 

"Is  it  possible!" 

"  Honestly,  I  never  did." 

"You  have  surely  heard  of  Red  Leary?" 

"  I  can't  recall  his  name." 

"George  Post?  Louis  Ludlum?  Pete  Mc 
Cartney?  Miles  Ogle?" 

"Don't  know  them." 

"  Perhaps  "—sarcastically—"  you  don't 
read  the  papers?" 

"Yes,  I  do;  and  I  have  a  good  memory. 
I  can  say  without  boasting  that  I  have  on 
my  tongue's  end  all  the  professional,  literary, 
and  artistic  names  in  America,  and  many  in 
Europe.  In  my  library  I  have  many  biog 
raphies,  but  none  of  which  a  burglar  is  the 
theme;  nor  do  I  recall  the  name  of  a  cele- 
22 


BURGLARS  THREE 

brated  criminal,  unless" -pleasantly— "he 
has  been  hanged." 

"  Yet  there  are  famous  names  in  our  pro 
fession,"  persisted  the  young  burglar,  some 
what  sullenly. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  admitted  Mr.  Braithwait,  tak 
ing  a  small  drink  of  claret.  "Literature 
has  preserved  Claude  Duval,  Jack  Sheppard, 
Dick  Turpin,— all  hung,— Fra  Diavolo,  who 
was  shot,  and  even  our  own  James  and 
Younger  boys;  and  I  have  heard  vaguely  of 
one  Billy  the  Kid  somewhere  out  West.  In 
a  general  sense,  literature  and  the  drama 
are  saturated  with  bandits,  brigands,  and  out 
laws,  sometimes  comical,  sometimes  heroic; 
but  you  will  excuse  me  if  I  maintain  that  you 
stand  on  a  different  footing.  Those  fellows 
always  had  a  poetical  backing;  somebody  or 
something  had  driven  them  to  their  illegal 
calling;  but  you  can  scarcely  make  a  similar 
claim." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  protested  Bax 
ter,  doggedly.  "Who  'd  give  me  a  job?" 

"Did  you  ever  try?" 

"No;  nor  I  ain't  goin'  to!" 
23 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

"As  I  supposed.  Honest  work  is  plenti 
ful  ;  therefore  you  are  absolutely  without  ex 
cuse.  No  one  has  usurped  your  name  and 
fortune,  stolen  your  ancestral  home  or  in 
tended  bride;  neither  have  you  been  outlawed 
for  your  political  or  religious  beliefs,  or  un 
justly  accused  of  crime." 

The  big  burglar  looked  extremely  blank  at 
this  pointed  address,  and,  grumbling,  took  a 
drink  of  whisky.  Mr.  Graham  promptly  came 
to  his  companion's  relief: 

"  You  have  made  out  a  prima  fade  case, 
as  the  lawyers  say,  but  the  fact  remains  that 
there  is  a  fascination  in  the  life  we  lead,  and 
some  romance.  There  is  mystery  about 
it,  for  one  thing,  and  danger,  for  another. 
Then  we  certainly  have  the  sympathy  of  a 
certain  class  of  society  when  we  are  prisoners." 

"  Is  not  the  sympathy  to  which  you  allude 
confined  to  murderers,  especially  those  who 
kill  their  wives?" 

"As  a  rule,  yes,"  admitted  Graham;  "but 

the  people  who  have  sympathy  for  murderers 

generally  have  such  a  superabundance  that 

they  can  spare  some  for  us.     I  have  known 

24 


BURGLARS   THREE 

burglars  to  receive  six  bouquets  in  a  single 
day,  and  from  real  ladies,  too." 

"I  am  afraid,"  said  Mr.  Braithwait,  with 
a  smile,  "  that  the  sympathy  extended  with 
such  small  discretion  has  little  market  value. 
But  let  us  pass  that  by,  and  glance  at  the 
disagreeable  side  of  your  profession.  For  in 
stance,  this  night  you  have  walked  from  the 
city,  the  nearest  point  of  which  is  three 
miles." 

"  We  come  four,"  growled  Baxter. 

"Well,  four;  and  four  back  is  eight.  It 
could  not  have  been  a  pleasant  walk,  as  the 
night  is  cloudy  and  the  roads  are  heavy  from 
recent  rains." 

"  There  war  n't  no  choice,"  said  Baxter, 
savagely.  "  We  had  to  walk." 

"  There  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Braithwait,  trium 
phantly;  "you  had  to  walk.  Now  I  don't 
have  to  walk;  I  ride  in  the  train  or  my  car 
riage  at  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night.  No 
honest  man  has  to  walk  if  he  has  money- 
and  of  course  you  have." 

"The  point,"  admitted  Mr.  Graham,  re 
luctantly,  "  is  well  taken." 
25 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

"  I  feel  certain  of  it.  Nor  is  this  the  only 
instance  in  which  your  pleasure  is  marred  by 
fear.  The  very  fame  for  which  you  strive  is 
a  constant  bar  to  your  enjoyment.  If  you 
take  lodging  at  a  hotel  you  are  ejected;  you 
may  be  refused  admittance  to  any  respecta 
ble  theater;  in  any  place  of  entertainment, 
except  the  very  lowest,  you  cannot  make  a 
new  acquaintance,  for  fear  he  may  be  a  de 
tective  plotting  your  capture;  you  are  com 
pelled  to  eat,  drink,  and  sleep  among  vile 
associates  and  vulgar  surroundings;  and  all 
for  a  pitiful  three  thousand  a  year!  By 
heaven!  it  is  worth  thirty!" 

"  You  use  strong  language,  sir,"  exclaimed 
the  youngest  burglar,  rising  and  pacing  the 
floor  in  an  agitated  way. 

"  I  do,"  admitted  the  master  of  the  house, 
"  because  my  business  sense  is  outraged  by 
your  stupidity." 

"Stupidity!"  echoed  Graham,  sharply. 

"  That  is  the  word,"  returned  Mr.  Braith- 
wait,  sternly.  "Your  profession  requires 
acuteness,  courage,  skill,  caution,  and  en 
durance.  Gentlemen,  these  are  admirable 
26 


BURGLARS  THREE 

traits,  and  with  them  you  might  be  anything 
but  burglars.  The  banking  institutions,  rail 
ways,  private  and  civic  corporations,  are 
eager  for  such  men;  they  pay  them  large 
wages  and  grant  them  great  privileges. 
The  governments,  State  and  national,  want 
such  men,  and  are  looking  for  them,  while 
they  are  skulking  through  city  alleys,  or 
walking  miry  roads  at  midnight.  Gentle 
men,  with  all  your  qualifications,  you  lack  the 
one  essential  to  success— common  sense." 

"Permit  me,"  said  Graham,  leaning  over 
the  table  and  speaking  with  much  force, 
"  to  call  your  attention  to  the  fact  that  we 
are  bright  enough  to  keep  society  eternally 
on  the  defensive." 

"  Granted,"  said  Mr.  Braithwait. 

"Small  in  numbers  though  we  are,  we 
necessitate  the  employment  of  a  police  force 
in  every  village,  town,  and  city  in  the  Union, 
to  say  nothing  of  special  constables  and  pri 
vate  watchmen.  We  force  every  bank  and 
corporation  to  sink  thousands  in  costly  safes, 
locks,  and  other  safeguards,  and  no  house 
holder  is  ever  free  from  apprehension  on  our 
27 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

account.  We  are  one  against  many,  so  to 
speak,  but  we  make  the  many  tremble! 
Could  we  exercise  this  power  without 
brains?" 

"Aye!  could  we?"  supplemented  Mont 
gomery,  with  flashing  eyes. 

"Granted  again,"  said  Mr.  Braithwait, 
cheerfully;  "but  quite  foreign  to  the  point 
at  issue.  Society  is  terrorized  through  its 
inertness,  and  when  society  enters  on  an 
active  warfare  you  gentlemen  cannot  make 
a  show  of  resistance.  And  even  under  our 
present  policy  of  passive  resistance  there  is 
but  one  thing  that  will  save  a  criminal  from 
the  eventual  clutch  of  the  law,  and  that  is— 
death." 

The  youngest  burglar  turned  white,  and 
Baxter  cursed  softly. 

"You  cannot,  with  all  your  brightness, 
commit  a  crime  without  leaving  a  trace," 
went  on  Mr.  Braithwait,  impassively,  "and 
every  modern  appliance  is  a  stumbling- 
block  in  your  path.  The  modern  bank  safe, 
equipped  with  time-locks,  is  impregnable; 
the  electric  light  has  made  our  streets  as 
28 


BURGLARS  THREE 

safe  by  night  as  day;  and  the  telegraph  has 
lengthened  the  arm  of  justice  until  it  en 
circles  the  globe." 

"  And  yet/'  retorted  Graham,  with  a  slight 
sneer,  "  you  have  been  robbed." 

"  And  yet  I  have  been  robbed,"  repeated 
Mr.  Braithwait,  calmly.  "  Without  interfer 
ing  sadly  with  my  comfort  and  ease,  I  cannot 
make  my  house  a  bank  or  surround  myself 
with  an  army  of  watchmen;  and  I  don't  like 
dogs.  So  I  have  been  robbed.  Yet"— Mr. 
Braithwait  looked  Mr.  Graham  quietly  in  the 
eye—  "yet  I  am  not  entirely  defenseless." 

"Hello!"  said  Baxter,  breathing  hard, 
"have  you  been  up  to  somethin'?" 

"  You  shall  judge  whether  I  have  rightly 
accused  you  of  lack  of  common  sense.  Be 
fore  attacking  this  house,  did  you  make 
yourself  acquainted  with  the  surroundings?  " 

"  I  did,"  answered  Graham,  confidently. 

"  Do  you  know  that  I  am  a  railroad  man?  " 

"Certainly." 

"Did  you  notice  a  wire  running  through 
the  woods  at  the  rear  of  my  house  ?  " 

"No!  "  cried  Graham,  violently. 
29 


BURGLARS  THREE 

"  A  strange  oversight  on  your  part.  Very 
stupid.  It  is  a  telephone-wire,  and  leads 
from  my  chamber  above  to  my  office  in  the 
city.  Now  for  the  application  of  my  re 
marks.  From  the  moment  of  your  entrance 
I  was  aware  of  your  movements,  and  instantly 
explained  the  situation  to  the  night  operator. 
He,  of  course,  notified  the  police—" 


"  And  while  you  kept  us  engaged  in  conver 
sation — "cried  Graham,  advancing  threat 
eningly. 

"The  police  were  coming  on  a  special 
train  to  my  assistance,"  said  Mr.  Braithwait, 
taking  a  second  cigar. 
31 


TALES  FROM  McGLURE'S 

"Damn  you!"  exclaimed  Baxter,  threat 
eningly. 

"  Stop ! "  cried  Graham,  interposing.  "  We 
have  no  time  for  that.  Let  us  run! " 

"  Don't ! "  said  the  host,  warningly.  "  The 
house  is  surrounded,  and  you  will  certainly 
be  shot.  Accept  the  situation,  as  I  did. 
You  gentlemen  have  been  my  guests  this 
evening,  and  I  have  been  highly  entertained. 
May  I  hope  that  the  pleasure  has  been 
mutual?" 

Before  any  one  could  answer,  the  door 
leading  to  the  woodshed  was  thrown  open, 
and  four  policemen  appeared  on  the  thresh 
old.  Montgomery  sank  helplessly  into  a 
chair,  Baxter  made  a  dash  for  the  door, 
while  Graham  remained  impassive;  but  all 
were  alike  handcuffed  expeditiously. 

"  Sir,"  said  Graham,  taking  a  cigar  from 
the  box,  "  our  misfortune  is  directly  due  to 
the  uncontrollable  appetite  of  our  com 
panion,  but  none  the  less  I  congratulate  you 
upon  your  ingenuity." 

"Thanks,"  said  Mr.  Braithwait.     "Did  I 
not  tell  you  that  you  were  stupid?" 
32 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

Mr.  Graham  bowed. 

;'You  have  taught  us  a  lesson,"  he  said 
gravely.  "  I  think  it  is  time  to  abandon  the 
business." 

"Well,  I  '11  be— "  Baxter  gasped,  and 
could  say  no  more. 

"We  are  disgraced!"  exclaimed  the  young 
est  burglar,  bitterly. 

Mr.  Braithwait  waved  his  hand. 

"I  am  sleepy,"  he  said,  with  a  yawn. 
"  Gentlemen,  good  night;  I  will  see  you  again 
—in  court." 


34 


THE  JONESES'  TELEPHONE 

BY 

ANNIE  HOWELLS  FRECHETTE 


THE   JONESES7 
TELEPHONE 


OW,  we  won't  be  selfish 
with  our  telephone,  will 
we,  dear?    We  will  let 
a  few  friends  use  it  occa 
sionally—it  will  be  such  a 
pleasure     and     a     conve 
nience."     And  Mrs.  Jones 
stood  off  and  looked  admir 
ingly  at  the  new  telephone. 
"By  all   means.      It  is 
here,  and  it  may  as  well  be 
doing  some  one  a  service  as 
to  stand  idle;  and  I  like  to  feel  that  a  friend 
isn't  afraid  to  ask  a  favor  of  me  now  and  then. 
Yes,  I  suppose  that  telephone  will  save  us 
37 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

many  a  car-fare  during  the  year.  You  can 
use  it  to  do  your  marketing,  instead  of  tiring 
yourself  out  and  wasting  half  a  day  three  or 
four  times  a  week;  and  days  when  I  forget 
things,  think  how  easy  it  will  be  to  telephone 
and  remind  me.  Why,  it  will  entirely  do 
away  with  the  need  for  strings  to  tie  around 
my  fingers." 

"  Of  course  it  will.  I  'm  sure  that  what 
we  '11  save  on  strings  and  car-fare  will  pay 
the  rent  of  the  instrument,"  joyously  re 
sponded  Mrs.  Jones,  who  had  no  great  head 
for  figures. 

Thus  hope  and  kindly  intentions  presided 
at  the  inauguration  of  the  Joneses' telephone. 

Three  months  passed,  and  the  great  in 
vention  had  carried  much  information— use 
ful  and  otherwise— not  only  to  its  owners, 
but  to  the  entire  neighborhood  as  well. 
There  were  even  days  when  the  Joneses 
questioned  whether  they  were  not  running 
a  public  telephone,  so  often  did  the  bell  ring. 
It  is  true  it  had  not  quite  paid  for  itself  in 
the  anticipated  saving  of  car-fares  and 
finger-strings;  still  it  had  certainly  been  a 
38 


THE  JONESES'    TELEPHONE 

great  comfort,  and  "Well,  we  '11  just  face 
the  music  and  call  it  a  luxury,"  said  Jones, 
as  he  put  away  the  receipt  for  his  first 
quarter's  rent  —  "  especially  for  our  friends," 
he  added  with  just  a  touch  of  bitterness. 

Scarce  twenty-four  hours  after  this  phil 
osophical  stand  was  taken,  Mrs.  Jones,  who 
was  rather  a  light  sleeper,  was  aroused  by  a 
violent  and  prolonged  ringing.  It  was  six 
o'clock  and  Sunday  morning— a  day  and  hour 
usually  dedicated  to  undisturbed  slumber. 
After  a  brief  debate  in  her  own  mind  as  to 
whether  the  house  was  on  fire  or  the  milk 
man  was  ringing,  she  realized  that  it  was  the 
telephone-bell.  She  hastily  donned  slippers 
and  gown,  and  ran  down-stairs.  In  reply  to 
her  interrogative  "Yes?"  (Mrs.  Jones  could 
never  bring  herself  to  say  "Hello!")  came 
the  following,  in  measured  and  clerical  tones: 

"It  is  Mr.  Brown — Reverend  Mr.  Brown— 
speaking." 

"Oh!  yes?"— instinctively  covering  her 
half -clad  feet  in  the  folds  of  her  gown. 

"  I  believe  you  live  near  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Smith,  and  are  a  member  of  his  church." 
39 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

"Yes." 

"  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  send  to  him, 
and  ask  if  he  can  spare  his  curate  to  take 
Mr.  Brown's  early  service  for  him,  as  he  is 
called  away?  I  would  be  glad  if  you  would 
send  immediately,  as  I  must  have  his  answer 
within  fifteen  minutes.  Thank  you.  Please 
call  up  1001,"  and  snap  went  the  telephone. 

Mrs.  Jones  looked  at  her  raiment,  and  re 
flected  that  her  one  servant  was  at  mass  and 
would  not  be  back  for  an  hour.  She  went 
slowly  up-stairs. 

"  Tom,  Tom,  dear,  wake  up." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  The  Reverend  Brown  has  telephoned  to 
know  whether  the  Reverend  Smith  can  send 
his  curate  to  take  his  early  service." 

"  Well,  what  in  the  world  have  I  got  to  do 
with  the  peddling  out  of  early  services?" 
snapped  Jones,  as  he  turned  and  shook  up 
his  pillows. 

"  He  has  to  have  an  answer  to  his  message 
within  fifteen  minutes." 

"Well,  let  Susan  take  it"— settling  back 
comfortably. 

40 


THE  JONESES'    TELEPHONE 

"  But  Susan  has  gone  to  mass." 

"  And  I  suppose  that  means  that  I  am  to 


be  turned  out  of  my  bed  at  daybreak  and 
canter  half  a  mile!"  cried  Jones,  in  a  high 
and  excited  voice,  as  he  bounced  from  his 

41 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

bed  and  began  to  grope  sleepily  for  his 
clothes.  His  toilet  was  made  amid  grum 
blings  of  "  Confound  their  early  services! 
Why  can't  they  stay  in  bed  like  Christians, 
instead  of  prowling  about,  and  sending  men 
out  in  the  chilly  morning  air?"  etc. 

Jones's  temper  was  soured  for  the  day,  and 
that  night,  as  he  was  winding  his  watch,  he 
said  severely:  "  Jane,  I  'm  going  to  draw  the 
line  at  delivering  messages.  Tom,  Dick,  and 
Harry  can  come  here  and  bellow  into  the 
telephone  until  they  are  hoarse,  but  I  '11  be 
switched  if  I  '11  be  messenger  boy  any  longer." 

But  messages  continued  to  come  and  go, 
increasing  rather  than  decreasing  in  fre 
quency.  People  in  the  neighborhood  fell 
into  the  habit  of  saying  to  friends  in  distant 
parts  of  the  city,  when  leaving  a  question 
open:  "Just  telephone  me  when  you  make 
up  your  mind.  I  have  n't  a  telephone  my 
self,  but  the  Joneses  have,  and  they  are  very 
obliging  about  letting  me  use  it." 

So  the  fact  that  a  telephone  was  owned  by 
an  obliging  family  circulated  almost  as  rap 
idly  as  if  it  had  been  a  lie. 
42 


THE  JONESES'    TELEPHONE 

There  were  times  when  Mrs.  Jones  had  n't 
the  face  to  ask  Susan  to  stop  her  work  and 
carry  these  messages,  so  she  carried  them 
herself— trying  to  keep  up  her  self-respect 
by  combining  an  errand  of  her  own  in  the 
same  direction.  There  were  a  few  messages, 
however,  which  remained  forever  indignantly 
shut  within  the  telephone;  as,  for  instance, 
that  of  the  little  girl,  which  came  in  a  shrill, 
piping  voice: 

"Mrs.  Jones,  will  you  send  your  servant 
over  to  Mrs.  Graham's  to  ask  Milly  where  she 
got  that  perfectly  delicious  delight  she  gave 
me  the  other  day?  And  tell  her  to  be  quick 
about  it,  please,  for  I  'm  waiting." 

And  another,  which  came  in  chuify,  dis 
torted,  conversational  English — regular 
"chappie"  English,  very  hard  to  under 
stand,  but  which  she  finally  straightened 
out  into:  "I  say  there— aw — oh — is  that 
you,  Mrs.  Jones?  Sorry  to  trouble  you,  but 
would  you  be  so  awfully  good  as  to  send 
word  to  Mrs.  Bruce— aw— that  I  'm  awfully 
cut  up  about  it,  but  I  won't  be  able  to  dine 
there  to-night?  Aw— I  would  n't  trouble 
43 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

you,  but  it  ?s  so  awfully  hot  I  can't  go  round 
to  explain  to  her — you  know.  Thanks,  aw 
fully."  The  telephone  was  closed,  and  the 
awfully  cut-up  young  man,  whose  sole  claim 
on  Mrs.  Jones  was  that  they  had  once  met  at 
a  party,  was  left  to  be  healed  by  time. 

He  had  for  company  in  his  fate  the  enthu 
siastic  tennis-player  who,  in  the  midst  of  "  a 
little  summer  shower,"  summoned  Mrs.  Jones. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  Flannigan,  the  gar 
dener." 

"This  is  not  Flannigan's  telephone." 

"And  who  is  speaking?" 

"  Mrs.  Jones." 

"  Oh,  well,  Mrs.  Jones,  I  can  give  my  mes 
sage  to  you  just  as  well.  I  want  you  to  tell 
Flannigan  to  come  and  roll  the  tennis-ground 
at  once.  He  will  understand.  Tell  him  right 
away,  please." 

"  Flannigan  does  not  live  here." 

"Well,  you  can  send  him  word,  I  sup 
pose," — in  a  surprised  and  off  ended  voice, 
-"to  oblige  a  lady.  It  is  Miss  Mortimer 
who  is  speaking."  And  there  was  an  im 
pressive  silence.  Mrs.  Jones  remembered 
44 


THE  JONESES'    TELEPHONE 

Miss  Mortimer  as  a  high-stepping  young 
woman  whom  she  had  met  at  a  friend's 
house,  and  who  had  given  her  the  impres 
sion  of  taking  an  inventory  of  her.  So  Mrs. 
Jones  took  pleasure  in  replying,  "  Miss  Mor 
timer  probably  does  not  know  that  she  is 
addressing  a  private  telephone.  Good  day." 

But  it  was  Jones,  the  luckless  Jones,  who 
seemed  set  aside  for  the  cruel  buffeting  of 
the  telephoning  public.  One  night,  which 
he  will  ever  point  to  as  the  wildest  and  wet 
test  night  he  has  known,  he  had  settled  him 
self  into  his  most  comfortable  chair,  with  a 
pile  of  new  magazines  beside  him,  when  he 
was  disturbed  by  a  summons  from  the  tele 
phone.  He  responded  with  readiness,  for  he 
was  rather  expecting  a  call  from  his  partner, 
and  to  his  cheerful  "  Hello,  old  fellow!  I  'm 
here,"  came,  in  a  sputtering  and  wind-tossed 
voice,  "Will  you  please  tell  Mrs.  Goodson 
that,  as  it  is  so  stormy,  her  daughter  will  not 
go  home  to-night?" 

Jones  turned  and  confronted  his  wife,  and 
for  a  time  words  refused  to  come. 

"Well,  this  is  a  little  too  much!  Now 
45 


THE  JONESES'    TELEPHONE 

think  of  an  unknown  voice  barking  at  me  to 
go  out  into  a  storm  like  this  and  tell  the 
Goodsons  that  their  daughter  will  not  be  at 
home  to-night!" 

The  Goodsons  lived  just  six  squares  away. 

"And  what  will  you  do,  dear?  Why 
did  n't  you  say  plainly  that  you  would  not 
and  could  not  go  out  into  a  storm  like  this 
—that  they  must  send  a  messenger?" 

"  They  shut  me  off  without  giving  me  time 
to  answer." 

"Well,  call  them  up.     Call  them  up  at 


once." 


"  Jane,  please  have  some  sense.  How  do 
I  know  where  Miss  Goodson  has  gadded  off 
to  ?  How  do  I  know  what  number  to  call  up  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  just  would  n't  go." 

"  Oh,  I  '11  have  to.  They  are  friends,  and 
if  they  are  expecting  that  girl  of  theirs  home 
to-night,  and  she  does  n't  come,  Mrs.  Good- 
son  will  go  out  of  her  mind." 

So   Jones   drove   himself  forth,  clad  in 

righteous    indignation    and    a    waterproof 

coat.     The  cold  rain  lashed  him,  and  the 

wind  belabored  his  umbrella,  and  he  was 

47 


TALES  FROM  MeCLURE'S 

more  than  once  obliged  to  pause  under 
friendly  porches  to  get  his  breath.  At  last 
the  home  of  the  Goodsons  was  reached,  and, 
spent  and  weary,  he  staggered  up  the  stepsr 
Goodson  himself  opened  the  door. 

"  Hello,  Jones;  you  're  no  fair-weather 
friend,  indeed.  Come  in,  come  in." 

"  No,  I  'm  too  wet,"  he  answered  pointedly 
(and  he  felt  like  adding  "and  too  mad"). 
"I  only  came  to  tell  you  that  Miss  Goodson 
won't  be  home  to-night." 

"My  daughter?  She  is  at  home.  Don't 
you  hear  her  playing  on  the  piano  now? 
Come  into  the  vestibule,  anyway." 

Jones  walked  in,  with  the  rain  streaming 
from  his  coat. 

"Katey!"  called  Mr.  Goodson  to  his  wife. 
"  Here  is  Jones  come  to  say  that  Julia  won't 
be  home  to-night." 

"What?"  demanded  Mrs.  Goodson,  ap 
pearing  in  the  hall,  and  regarding  Jones  as 
if  he  were  a  mild  sort  of  lunatic.  "  Julia  is 
at  home." 

"  Well,  I  don't  understand  it,"  said  Jon.e§, 
plaintively.  "  I  was  rung  up  half  an  hour 
48 


THE  JONESES'    TELEPHONE 

ago,  and  asked  to  come  and  tell  you  that 
your  daughter  would  n't  be  at  home  on  ac 
count  of  the  storm." 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  stand 
ready  to  turn  out  at  all  hours  and  deliver 
messages  free  of  cost?"  cried  Goodson. 

"It  looks  that  way." 

"  Well,  you  are  an  ass." 

"Don't  compliment  me  too  freely,  Good- 
son.  I  can't  take  in  much  more;  I  'm  soaked 
as  it  is." 

Mrs.  Goodson  stood  thinking.  "  Who  could 
have  been  meant?  Oh,  I  Ve  just  thought! 
It  must  be  that  Mrs.  Goodson  who  sews  for 
Mrs.  Jones  and  me.  And  she  has  a  daughter, 
— a  type-writer  down-town, — and  she  has 
friends  living  in  the  suburbs.  She  has 
doubtless  gone  there  to  dinner,  and  con 
cluded  to  stay  all  night.  But  she  lives  just 
around  the  corner  from  you." 

Goodson  laughed  loudly  and  brutally.  "  A 
bonny  sort  of  a  night  for  a  respectable  fam 
ily  man  like  you,  Jones,  to  be  skylarking 
around  carrying  messages  for  type-writing 
maidens!" 

49 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

"  Oh,  come  now;  that  's  a  little  too  much! " 

"  Well,  old  man,  I  '11  show  my  gratitude 
for  your  friendly  intentions  toward  me  by 
going  round  to  the  telephone  people  the  first 
thing  in  the  morning,  and  complaining  of  you. 
You  've  no  right  to  be  running  opposition  to 
the  public  telephones  in  this  way." 

"  If  you  only  would!"  And  Jones  wrung 
his  friend's  hand,  while  tears  of  thankfulness 
welled  up  to  his  eyes. 

Once  in  the  street,  he  longed  for  a  con 
temptuous  enemy  to  kick  him  briskly  to  the 
door  of  the  widow  Goodson.  The  latter  was 
evidently  about  to  retire,  as  it  was  a  long 
time  before  she  responded  to  his  ring. 
When  finally  she  did  come,  she  heard  him 
calmly  through,  and  then  answered  languidly : 

"Yes;  I  did  n't  much  expect  Bella  home 
to-night,  for  she  said  if  it  come  on  to  rain 
she  thought  she  'd  stay  with  her  cousins. 
Good  night.  Quite  drizzly,  is  n't  it  ?"  -peer 
ing  out  into  the  darkness. 

Full  of  bitterness,  Jones  turned  homeward. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  his  cup  was  full,  and 
so  it  was,  for  it  refused  to  hold  more.  As 
50 


THE  JONESES'    TELEPHONE 

he  entered  his  home,  chilled  without  but 
hot  within,  he  was  greeted  by  an  unfamiliar 
voice  coming  from  the  regions  of  the  tele 
phone. 

"Give  me  Blair's,"  it  said.  "Is  that 
Blair's?  Is  that— Blair's— B-l-a-i-r-'s,— do 
you  understand?  Oh,  yes;  it  is  you,  is  it, 
Mrs.  Blair?  Well,  say  I  want  to  speak  to 
Miss  McCrea.  Oh— pshaw!  you  must  know 
her— she  's  the  young  lady  that  works  for 
you.  Oh,  she  's  out,  is  she?  Well,  when 
she  comes  in,  tell  her  Miss  Doolan  told  you 
to  say  that  Mr.  Brennan  has  broke  his  leg,- 
she  '11  know;  he  drives  Judson's  horses,— and 
me  and  Mrs.  Judson  want  to  know  whether 
he  'a  to  go  to  the  hospital  or  to  his  friends. 
You  can  send  your  answer  to  No.  999. 
They  '11  let  me  know.  Give  Miss  McCrea  my 
love,  and  tell  her  not  to  worry  about  Mr. 
Brennan.  Good-by." 

Jones  confronted  a  stately  creature  as  she 
stepped  into  the  hall. 

"  Look  here,  young  woman;  who  are  you?  " 

"  I  'm  Miss  Doolan,  and  I  'm  stopping  at 
Judson's— as  housemaid,"  she  answered,  so 
51 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

taken  aback  that  for  the  moment  her  self- 
possession  failed  her. 

"And  to  whom  have  you  been  telephon 
ing?" 


"To  Blair's— Judge  Blair's,  over  on  the 
avenue.     A  friend  of  mine  stops  there." 

"  And  are  you  in  the  habit  of  calling  up 
ladies  in  that  fashion?" 
52 


THE  JONESES'   TELEPHONE 

"  It  's  a  very  good  fashion,  for  all  /  can 
see,"  she  retorted  impudently. 

"  And  what  business  have  you  to  order  an 
answer  sent  here  for  me  to  carry  on  a  night 
like  this?" 

"  Mrs.  Judson  and  me  took  you  for  a,  gentle 
man,  sor,  and  we  thought  you  would  n't  mind 
obliging  ladies." 

"Nor  do  I;  but  I  don't  know  either  Mrs. 
Judson  or  you,  and  I  don't  propose  running 
errands  for  you." 

"  Oh,  then  don't  bother  yourself,  sor— we 
can  hire  a  boy,"  she  flung  back  with  a  scorn 
ful  laugh  as  she  bounced  out. 

"Now,  Jane,  I  want  you  distinctly  to 
understand  that  the  last  message  has  been 
carried  from  this  house.  I  have  probably 
to-night  sown  the  seeds  of  pleurisy  and 
pneumonia  broadcast  in  my  system;  I  have 
walked  twelve  squares  to  deliver  a  message 
to  the  wrong  person;  we  have  had  a  baggage 
here  using  our  telephone  as  if  it  were  her 
own;  and  we  have  been  at  the  beck  and  call 
of  the  unpaying  public  for  the  last  six 
months.  Now,  if  the  telephone  people  are 
53 


TALES  FROM  MeCLURE'S 

not  here  by  noon  to-morrow,  to  threaten 
legal  proceedings  against  me  (Goodson  has 
promised  to  complain  of  me)  for  undermining 
their  business,  I  shall  have  that  wretched  in 
strument  dragged  away,  body  and  soul,  and 
we  will  try  some  other  form  of  economy  in 
the  future." 


54 


A  YARN  WITHOUT  A  MORAL 

BY 

MORGAN  ROBERTSON 


A  YARN  WITHOUT  A  MORAL 


TT  was  in  the  early  days  of  lake  traffic, 
J-  when  vessels  were  small,  discipline  lax, 
and  when  each  forecastle  might  contain  one 
or  more  part-owners.  Dunkirk  Sam,  Bill 
Tubbs,  and  Starboard  Jack,  composing  the 
crew  of  the  little  schooner  Alma,  held  no 
such  dual  relations  with  their  captain;  they 
drew  wages,  not  profits.  But  as  their  cap 
tain  was  old  Long  Tom  Tucker,  of  their  own 
town,  whom  they  loved  and  "sassed"  and 
advised  and  obeyed  as  they  pleased,  their 
treatment  of  him  was  in  no  way  calculated 
to  impress  strangers  with  any  other  belief 
than  that  they  owned  the  whole  vessel  —  and 
Captain  Tom,  too. 

At  Kingston,  after  discharging  cargo,  they 
57 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

had  put  on  their  shore  clothes  and  selfishly 
gone  to  the  theater,  leaving  Captain  Tom  to 
keep  ship  or  go  ashore  with  himself  or  the 
cook,  as  he  liked.  The  mate,  newly  shipped, 
lived  in  Kingston,  and  early  in  the  evening 
had  fled  to  the  bosom  of  his  family.  The  cap 
tain  sulked  for  a  while  under  the  slight  put 
upon  him  by  his  "  boys,"  went  ashore  alone, 
met  his  agent,  then  hunted  up  his  mate  and 
sent  him  aboard,  for  the  agent  had  secured 
him  a  load  from  Port  Hope  to  Oswego.  Then 
he  hied  himself  to  the  one  theater  of  the 
town,  bought  a  ticket,  went  in,  and  vainly 
coaxed  the  three  unregenerates  to  heed  the 
call  of  duty.  '  Useless  endeavor.  They  were 
kind  to  him,  asked  him  to  sit  with  them,  but 
would  not  budge  until  the  performance  ended. 
Captain  Tom  coaxed,  ordered,  fumed,  and  fi 
nally  swore,  then  was  collared  by  a  scandal 
ized  fat  policeman  and  cast  forth  into  outer 
darkness,  followed  by  the  heartless  threat  of 
the  three  to  tell  his  wife  and  the  minister 
when  they  got  home— for  Captain  Tucker 
was  a  sturdy  pillar  of  the  church. 

Filled  to  the  brim  with  "  aggravation,"  he 
58 


A    YARN   WITHOUT  A  MORAL 

returned  to  the  wharf  where  his  vessel  lay, 
and  helped  the  mate  loose  the  canvas,  vow 
ing  to  pay  off  the  three  "  sogers  "  at  the  first 
American  port. 

The  three  left  the  theater  at  eleven  o'clock, 
and  leisurely  made  their  way  to  the  vessel. 
Had  they  seen  a  restaurant  they  would  have 
satisfied  their  slight  hunger  before  putting 
themselves  under  Captain  Tom's  domination. 
Not  that  they  anticipated  increased  peril 
from  the  weakness  attending  empty  stom 
achs,  but  they  knew  that  the  cook,  as  indiffer 
ent  to  nautical  etiquette  as  themselves,  had 
turned  in  for  the  night.  Hence  there  would 
be  no  night  lunch  prepared,  and  it  was  a  long 
time  until  breakfast. 

Discussing  the  matter  made  them  hun 
grier.  Starboard  Jack  suggested  the  ad 
visability  of  turning  back  and  hunting  for 
an  eating-house.  "  For,"  he  said,  "  the  skip 
per  won't  turn  the  cook  out  for  us  to-night, 
but  he  '11  get  his  own  nibble  from  the  galley." 
They  agreed  to  this,  and  Captain  Tom's  pro 
spective  selfishness  condoned  their  own  muti 
nous  behavior,  giving  the  balance  of  injury  to 
59 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

them.  They  became  outrageously  hungry, 
and  halted  when  a  rooster,  aroused  by  their 
voices,  rose  to  full  stature,  cluttered  at 
them,  and  settled  down  again.  Fatal  mis 
take. 

Starboard  Jack  testified  later  that  visions 
of  a  chicken  pot-pie,  partaken  of  at  home, 
entered  his  brain,  and  the  savory  odor  seemed 
to  be  in  his  nostrils.  Bill  Tubbs  admits  that 
his  wayward  thoughts  serenely  reviewed  an 
oft-regretted  early  dissipation,  in  which  he 
had  disgracefully  attended  a  cock-fight. 
Dunkirk  Sam  never  committed  himself,  but 
it  is  on  record  that  Dunkirk  Sam  was  the 
first  to  sneak. 

"Mighty  fine  rooster— Shanghai,  too,"  he 
said. 

"Nice  and  fat,"  remarked  Bill  Tubbs, 
turning  square  the  other  way,  thus  putting 
temptation  behind  him. 

Why  discuss  the  devious  course  of  crimi 
nal  thoughts  through  the  doubts  and  fears 
of  non-criminal  brains?  Ten  tarry  digits 
closed  around  the  neck  of  the  drowsy  bird, 
stifling  the  indignant  outcry.  Five  were  re- 
60 


A    YARN  WITHOUT  A  MORAL 

moved  later  to  the  struggling  claws,  which 
threatened  to  ruin  Starboard  Jack's  new  "  go- 
ashore  "  coat.  Three  guilty  marauders  fled 
through  the  darkness. 

It  was  blind,  illogical  crime,  for  crime's 
sake  alone.  Their  hunger  may  have  sug 
gested  the  abduction;  the  abduction  could  in 
no  way  satisfy  their  hunger.  But  this  did 
not  occur  to  them.  Guilty  fear  possessed 
their  souls,  excluding  other  thoughts,  even 
of  their  empty  stomachs. 

With  the  rooster  snugly  imprisoned  under 
Starboard  Jack's  arm,  they  tumbled  over  the 
Alma's  rail  and  down  the  forecastle  stairs, 
unheeding  the  tirade  of  reproach  launched 
at  them  by  Captain  Tom.  Here  a  hurried 
confab  resulted  in  the  raising  of  the  trap 
door  and  the  unceremonious  bundling  of  the 
nearly  choked  fowl  into  the  inky  darkness  of 
the  forepeak.  One  protesting  squeak  arose 
from  the  depths.  Then  they  changed  their 
clothes,  went  up  and  made  sail,  taking 
meekly  the  scolding  they  had  deserved. 
Captain  Tom's  wrath  finally  gave  way  to 
astonishment  at  their  submissiveness,  and 
61 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

he  desisted,  for  they  had  given  him  not  one 
word  of  "  back  talk."    How  could  they? 

Captain  Tom  Tucker  was  a  Lake  Erie  navi 
gator.  He  had  brought  his  little  schooner 
down  to  glean  some  of  the  lucrative  barley- 
trade  of  the  lower  lake.  Knowing  nothing 
of  Lake  Ontario,  he  had  secured  a  mate  who 
did,  and  this  was  enough— for  summer  sail 
ing  at  least.  He  had  no  use  for  charts— 
would  not  have  one  aboard — or  any  other 
salt-water  methods.  He  believed  in  carry 
ing  courses  and  distances  in  his  head,  where 
he  could  get  at  them  when  needed. 

An  hour  after  the  mate  had  given  the 
course  up  the  north  shore  and  turned  in,  the 
fog  shut  down,  moist  and  thick,  blotting  out 
the  patch  of  blacker  darkness  that  loomed  up 
as  land  to  the  northward,  and  making  the 
voice  of  Dunkirk  Sam,  heaving  the  lead  at 
the  request  of  the  anxious  captain,  sound 
hoarse  and  resonant  as  he  called  out,  "No 
bottom." 

Captain  Tucker  wished,  not  for  a  chart, 
but  that  he  knew  that  shore  better.     Not 
caring  to  call  the  mate,  he  took  his  stand  at 
62 


A    YARN   WITHOUT  A   MORAL 

the  weather-bow,  tooting  the  fog-horn,  and 
straining  sight  and  hearing  into  the  wet 
blanket  ahead.  The  wind  was  off  the  land 
at  an  angle  which  just  allowed  Bill  Tubbs  at 
the  wheel  to  lay  his  course. 

In  his  bunk  in  the  forecastle  was  Starboard 
Jack,  making  the  best  he  could  of  his  watch 
below,  and  beneath  him,  be  it  remembered, 
was  the  confiscated  rooster.  Either  his  con 
science  or  his  empty  stomach  or  the  fog 
horn  above  kept  Starboard  Jack  awake,  and 
he  rolled  out  to  enjoy  the  usual  sailor's  re 
lief  from  insomnia— he  lighted  his  pipe. 

It  was  not  daylight,  nor  time  for  it,  and  the 
occupant  of  the  forepeak  had  no  legitimate 
right  or  reason  to  think  so.  He  was,  no 
doubt,  rather  upset  by  the  night's  adventure, 
and  his  powers  of  discernment  were  unequal 
to  the  task  of  distinguishing  between  day 
light  and  the  flicker  of  a  lighted  match  show 
ing  through  the  chinks  in  the  forecastle  floor. 
Or  it  may  be  that  he  understood  and  merely 
expressed  approval  of  the  light  shed  on  his 
darkness.  He  gave  vent  to  a  hearty,  long- 
drawn  crow,  which,  reaching  the  ears  of 
63 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

Captain  Tom  on  the  weather-bow,  muffled  and 
indistinct,  seemed  to  him  to  come  from  the 
lee  side,  where  there  should  be  nothing  but 
open  water. 

" Great  snakes,  where  are  we? "he  shouted. 
"  Hear  that,  Dunkirk?  Didyouhearit?  Light 
up  the  jib-sheets.  Hard-a-lee.  There 's  land 
over  there." 

Around  went  the  little  vessel.  Starboard 
Jack  heard,  with  dismay,  the  sounds  beneath 
and  above,  and  started  up  to  forestall  any 
further  mischief  by  an  honest  confession; 
but  the  sight  of  Dunkirk  Sam's  round  face, 
shaking  with  silent,  unholy  glee,  as  he  peered 
down  the  hatch  during  the  transit  from  jib- 
sheet  to  jib-sheet,  sent  him  back.  Dunkirk 
Sam  returned  to  the  lead,  while  Captain  Tom 
tooted  the  horn  from  the  weather-bow,  now, 
of  course,  the  other  side.  When  a  lonely 
rooster  begins  to  crow  it  is  hard  to  guess 
when  he  will  stop.  The  schooner  had  been 
skimming  along  straight  for  the  shore  for 
five  minutes,  and  Dunkirk  Sam  had  just 
called  out,  "Mark  twenty,  hard  bottom," 
when  Captain  Tom  distinctly  heard  another 
64 


A    YARN  WITHOUT  A   MORAL 

rooster— not  the  first.  They  were  leaving 
that  astern.  This  one  was  on  the  lee-bow 
as  before,  but  in  another  direction. 

"Oh,  my  good  Lord,"  he  groaned,  "where 
in  Sam  Hill  are  we?  Barn-yards  all  'round: 
we  're  goin'  up  some  river.  Hard  up,  Bill," 
he  yelled;  "hard  up!  Slack  off  the  main 
sheet  an7  get  her  'fore  the  wind." 

Waving  his  long  arms  and  shouting,  he  ran 
aft  to  look  at  the  compass,  and  call  the  mate, 
if  necessary.  Dunkirk  Sam  jerked  the  lead 
inboard  and  sped  to  the  forecastle  hatch. 

"Starboard,"  he  called  in  a  hoarse  whis 
per,  "you  awake?" 

"What?" 

"  Ring  his  neck;  the  old  man  's  goin'  daft. 
He  near  beached  her." 

Dunkirk  Sam's  sense  of  humor  had  left 
him  when  his  lead  reached  bottom. 

Captain  Tom  steadied  his  vessel  due  south 
east,  and  had  partially  recovered  his  wits, 
when,  from  straight  ahead,  he  heard  another 
rooster.  The  misguided  fowl  in  the  forepeak 
had  proclaimed  his  third  defiance,  just  as 
Starboard  Jack  raised  the  trap-door  to  de- 
65 


TALES  FROM  HcCLURE'S 

scend  upon  him.  Loud  and  clear  came  the 
clarion  note  to  the  ears  of  the  perplexed 
skipper,  to  whom  it  seemed  not  three  lengths 
ahead. 

"  Hard  down,"  he  snarled  to  the  grinning 
Bill;  "hard  down,  man;  down  with  that 
wheel;  we  're  goin'  ashore.  What  you  laugh 
ing  at?  Down  with  it."  He  seized  the 
spokes,  and  ground  the  wheel  over. 

"  Bring  her  up  and  shake  her,"  he  shouted 
back  as  he  raced  forward  with  great  leaps. 
"  Get  that  anchor  over.  Dunkirk,  call  Star 
board." 

Starboard  Jack  was  forced  to  come  up,  and 
the  rooster  enjoyed  a  reprieve.  Hurriedly, 
under  the  supervision  of  the  frantic  skipper, 
they  pried  the  big  anchor  off  the  bow,  low 
ered  and  let  it  go  as  the  schooner  shot  up 
into  the  wind,  shaking  her  sails.  Bill  Tubbs 
now  lay  himself  on  the  deck  near  the  wheel 
and  rolled  in  convulsive  laughter,  but  the  two 
worthies  forward  ruefully  watched  the  skip 
per  insanely  pay  out  chain  until,  with  thirty 
fathoms  out,  the  anchor  caught.  They  an 
ticipated  the  heaving  in. 
66 


A    YARN   WITHOUT  A  MORAL 

Ordering  the  foresail  and  jibs  lowered,  in 
a  tone  which  admitted  of  no  protest,  Captain 
Tom  stalked  around  the  deck.  The  rooster, 
possibly  frightened  by  the  deafening  din  of 
the  chain  going  out,  remained  silent,  and  the 
guilty  ones  hoped  for  a  chance  to  silence  his 
voice  forever,  as  Captain  Tom  was  in  no 
humor  to  take  a  joke.  But  Captain  Tom 
stayed  forward,  blowing  the  horn  at  intervals 
and  looking  anxious. 

Daylight  came,  and  with  it  a  change  of 
wind  which  scattered  the  dense  fog  into 
curious  detached  masses  of  smoky  shapes, 
showing  the  north  shore  fully  two  miles 
away,  and  not  a  farm,  barn-yard,  or  rooster 
within  range  of  the  astounded  captain's 
vision.  His  face  was  a  study. 

With  open  mouth,  puckered  forehead,  and 
bulging  eyes,  his  gaze  wandered  from  the 
shore  to  the  water  each  side,  to  his  inno 
cent-looking  crew,  to  his  own  long  figure, 
which  he  scanned  from  his  feet  up  as  though 
doubting  his  own  existence,  and  back  to  the 
shore. 

The  mate  and  the  cook  were  called,  and 
67 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

all  hands  manned  the  windlass,  the  captain 
holding  slack  and  earnestly  explaining  to  the 
mate  the  ghostly  interference  of  the  night. 
"What  you  grinnin'  at,  you  three?"  he  sud 
denly  demanded. 

As  he  spoke,  the  rooster,  encouraged  by 
the  faint  diffusion  of  the  morning  light  in 
his  prison,  crowed  again.  It  was  a  startling, 
enthusiastic  crow,  long  and  weird.  In  it 
he  expressed  his  appreciation  of  the  kindly 
light,  his  disgust  at  his  treatment,  and  de 
fiance  to  his  enemies,  his  hunger,  his  thirst, 
his  memory  of  the  happy  barn-yard  home, 
and  his  desire  to  get  back.  It  was  his  soul's 
tribute  to  liberty  and  happiness,  but  it  was 
his  death-knell. 

It  was  followed  by  an  uproarious  burst  of 
laughter,  and  Captain  Tom,  with  a  reproach 
ful  glance  at  his  men,  descended  and  wrung 
his  neck.  Then  he  reappeared,  and  with  legs 
apart  and  arms  waving,  declaimed.  Nothing 
would  excuse  an  exact  repetition  of  his 
language.  Chicken-thieves,  scoundrels,  in- 
grates,  miserable  low-down  "whittling  of 
nothin',"  were  some  of  the  names  he  called 
68 


A    YARN   WITHOUT  A   MORAL 

them,  well  sprinkled  with  shocking  piratical 
profanity.  "  Might  ha'  known  somethin'  was 
up,"  he  concluded;  "you  've  been  so  all-fired 
civil." 

A  ter  breakfast,  while  steering,  Dunkirk 
Sam  ventured  to  expostulate.  "  We  lifted 
him,  cappen,  'cause  we  don't  get  much  fresh 
meat  in  your  vessel.  Now  I  '11  tell  you 
what  we  '11  do.  If  you  '11  let  the  cook  fix 
him  up  for  a  pot-pie  dinner,  and  you  '11 
promise  yourself  not  to  pay  us  off,  as  you 
said,  why,  we  '11  all  promise,  every  one  of  us, 
not  to  tell  the  other  cappens  'bout  it,  and 
we  won't  tell  the  minister  'bout  the  way  you 
cussed,  neither." 

Without  answering  Captain  Tom  shame 
facedly  went  below.  Ten  minutes  later  the 
cook  asked  Bill  for  the  rooster. 

This  story  has  no  moral.  Not  that  in  the 
eternal  fitness  of  things  this  should  be.  It 
ought  to  go  on  record  that  the  pot-pie 
choked  them,  but  nothing  of  the  kind  hap 
pened.  There  is  not  a  point  on  which  a 
moral  can  hang. 

Captain  Tom  steered,  as  was  his  habit, 
69 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

while  the  rest  mustered  around  the  cabin 
table.  The  cook  divided  the  pot-pie  into  six 
sections,  and  ate  his  share  in  the  galley. 
The  mate  finished  his  dinner  and  went  up  to 
relieve  the  skipper,  who,  not  having  quite 
forgiven  his  "boys,"  waited  before  going 
down  until  they  had  finished.  An  unwise 
delay! 

Three  pairs  of  eyes,  lifted  from  three 
well-emptied  plates,  gazed  longingly  at  the 
remaining  share  of  pot-pie.  Glances  and 
grins  were  exchanged.  Then  three  spoons 
reached  toward  the  platter,  and  the  captain's 
dinner  was  removed.  It  was  shameful. 


70 


THE   KING   OF   BOYVILLE 

BY 

WILLIAM  ALLEN  WHITE 


THE   KING   OF  BOYVILLE 


B 


OYS  who  are  born  in  a  small  town  are 
born  free  and  equal.    In  the  big  city  it 


may  be  different;  there  are  doubtless  good 

little  boys  who  disdain  bad  little  boys,  and 

73 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

poor  little  boys  who  are  never  to  be  noticed 
under  any  circumstances.  But  in  a  small 
town  every  boy,  good  or  bad,  rich  or  poor, 
stands  among  boys  on  his  own  merits.  The 
son  of  the  banker  who  owns  a  turning-pole 


in  the  back  yard  does  homage  to  the  baker's 
boy  who  can  sit  on  the  bar  and  drop  down 
and  catch  by  his  legs;  while  the  good  little 
boy  who  is  kept  in  wide  collars  and  cuffs  by 
a  mistaken  mother  gazes  through  the  white 
paling  of  his  father's  fence  at  the  troop 
74 


THE  KING   OF  BOYVILLE 

headed  for  the  swimming-hole,  and  pays  all 
the  reverence  which  his  dwarfed  nature  can 
muster  to  the  sign  of  two  fingers. 

In  the  social  order  of  boys  who  live  in 


country  towns  a  boy  is  measured  by  what 
he  can  do,  and  not  by  what  his  father  is.  And 
so  Winfield  Hancock  Pennington,  whose  boy 
name  was  Piggy  Pennington,  was  the  King 

75 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

of  Boyville.  For  Piggy  could  walk  on  his 
hands,  curling  one  foot  gracefully  over  his 
back,  and  pointing  the  other  one  straight  in 
the  air;  he  could  hang  by  his  heels  on  a  fly 
ing  trapeze;  he  could  chin  a  pole  so  many 
times  that  no  one  could  count  the  number; 
he  could  turn  a  somersault  in  the  air  from 
the  level  ground,  both  backward  and  for 
ward;  he  could  " tread "  water,  and  "lay" 
his  hair;  he  could  hit  any  marble  in  any  ring 
from  "  taws "  and  "  knucks  "  down;  and,  bet 
ter  than  all,  he  could  cut  his  initials  in  the 
ice  on  skates,  and  whirl  round  and  round  so 
many  times  that  he  looked  like  an  animated 
shadow,  when  he  would  dart  away  up  the 
stream,  his  red  "comfort"  flapping  behind 
him  like  a  laugh  of  defiance.  In  the  story 
books  such  a  boy  would  be  the  son  of  a 
widowed  mother,  and  turn  out  very  good  or 
very  bad;  but  Piggy  was  not  a  story-book 
boy,  and  his  father  kept  a  grocery  store, 
from  which  Piggy  used  to  steal  so  many 
dates  that  the  boys  said  his  father  must 
have  cut  up  the  almanac  to  supply  him. 
As  he  never  gave  the  goodies  to  the  other 
76 


THE  KING   OF  BOYVILLE 

boys,  but  kept  them  for  his  own  use,  his 
name  of  "Piggy"  was  his  by  all  the  rights 
of  Boyville. 

There  was  one  thing  Piggy  Pennington 
could  not  do,  and  it  was  the  one  of  all  things 
that  he  most  wished  he  could  do;  he  could 
not,  under  any  circumstances,  say  three  con 
secutive  and  coherent  words  to  any  girl  under 
fifteen  and  over  nine.  He  was  invited,  with 
nearly  all  the  boys  of  his  age  in  town,  to 
children's  parties.  And  while  any  other  boy, 
whose  only  accomplishment  was  turning  a 
cart-wheel,  or  skinning  the  cat  backward, 
or,  at  most,  hanging  by  one  leg  and  turning 
a  handspring,  could  boldly  ask  a  girl  if  he 
could  see  her  home,  Piggy  had  to  get  his  hat 
and  sneak  out  of  the  house  when  the  com 
pany  broke  up.  He  would  comfort  himself 
by  walking  along  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street  from  some  couple,  while  he  talked  in 
monosyllables  about  a  joke  which  he  and  the 
boy  knew,  but  which  was  always  a  secret  to 
the  girl.  Even  after  school  Piggy  could  not 
join  the  select  coterie  of  boys  who  followed 
the  girls  down  through  town  to  the  post- 
77 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

office.  He  could  not  tease  the  girls  about 
absent  boys  at  such  times,  and  make  up 
rhymes  like 

"First  the  cat  and  then  her  tail; 
Jimmy  Sears  and  Maggie  Hale," 

and  shout  them  out  for  the  crowd  to  hear. 
Instead  of  joining  the  courtly  troupe,  Piggy 


Pennington  went  off  with  the  boys  who  really 
did  n't  care  for  such  things,  and  fought,  or 
played  "tracks  up,"  or  wrestled  his  way 

78 


THE  KING   OF  BOYVILLE 

leisurely  home  in  time  to  get  in  his  "  night 
wood."  But  his  heart  was  not  in  these  pas 
times.  It  was  with  a  red  shawl  of  a  peculiar 
shade,  that  was  wending  its  way  to  the  post- 
office  and  back,  to  a  home  in  one  of  the  few 
two-story  houses  in  the  little  town.  Time 
and  time  again  had  Piggy  tried  to  make  some 
sign  to  let  his  feelings  be  known,  but  every 
time  he  had  failed.  Lying  in  wait  for  her 
at  corners  and  suddenly  breaking  upon  her 
with  a  glory  of  backward  and  forward  somer 
saults  did  not  convey  the  state  of  his  heart. 
Hanging  by  his  heels  from  an  apple-tree  limb 
over  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  her,  unexpect 
edly,  did  not  tell  the  tender  tale  for  which 
his  lips  could  find  no  words.  And  the  near 
est  he  could  come  to  an  expression  of  the 
longing  in  his  breast  was  to  cut  her  initials 
in  the  ice  beside  his  own  when  she  came 
wobbling  past  on  some  other  boy's  arm.  But 
she  would  not  look  at  the  initials,  and  the 
chirography  of  his  skates  was  so  indistinct 
that  it  required  a  key;  and,  everything  put 
together,  poor  Piggy  was  no  nearer  a  declara 
tion  at  the  end  of  the  winter  than  he  had  been 
79 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

at  the  beginning  of  autumn.  So  only  one 
heart  beat  with  but  a  single  thought,  and  the 
other  took  motto  candy  and  valentines  and 
red  apples  and  picture-cards  and  other  tokens 
of  esteem  from  other  boys,  and  beat  on  with 
any  number  of  thoughts,  entirely  immaterial 
to  the  uses  of  this  narrative.  But  Piggy 
Pennington  did  not  take  to  the  enchantment 
of  corn-silk  cigarettes,  and  ratan  and  grape 
vine  cigars.  He  tried  to  sing,  and  wailed 
dismal  ballads  about  "The  Gipsy's  Warning," 
and  "The  child  in  the  grave  with  its  mother," 
and  "  She  's  a  daisy,  she  ?s  a  darling,  she  's 
a  dumpling,  she  's  a  lamb,"  whenever  he  was 
in  hearing  distance  of  his  Heart's  Desire, 
in  the  hope  of  conveying  to  her  some  hint  of 
the  state  of  his  affections;  but  it  was  useless. 
Even  when,  as  he  passed  her  house  in  the 
gloaming,  he  tried  to  whistle  plaintively,  his 
notes  brought  forth  no  responsive  echo. 

One  morning  in  the  late  spring  he  spent 
half  an  hour  before  breakfast  among  his 
mother's  roses,  which  were  just  in  first 
bloom.  He  had  taken  out  there  all  the 
wire  from  an  old  broom  and  all  his  kite- 
80 


THE  KING   OF  BOYVILLE 

string.  His  mother  had  to  call  three  times 
before  he  would  leave  his  work.  The  young 
ster  was  the  first  to  leave  the  table,  and  by 
eight  o'clock  he  was  at  his  task  again.  Be 
fore  the  first  school-bell  had  rung,  Piggy 
Pennington  was  bound  for  the  school-house 


with  a  strange-looking  parcel  under  his  arm. 

He  tried  to  put  his  coat  over  it,  but  it  stuck 

out,  and  the  newspaper  that  was  wrapped 

around  it  bulged  into  so  many  corners  that 

it  looked  like  a  home-tied  bundle  of  laundry. 

"  What  you  got? "  asked  the  freckle-faced 

81 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

boy  who  was  learning  at  Piggy's  feet  how 
to  do  the  "  muscle-grind "  on  the  turning- 
pole. 

But  Piggy  Pennington  was  the  King  of 
Boyville,  and  he  had  a  right  to  look  straight 
ahead  of  him  as  if  he  did  not  hear  the  ques 
tion,  and  say,  "Lookie  here,  Mealy,  I  wish 
you  would  go  and  tell  Abe  I  want  him  to 
hurry  up,  for  I  want  to  see  him." 

"Abe"  was  Piggy's  nearest  friend.  His 
other  name  was  Carpenter.  Piggy  only 
wished  to  be  rid  of  the  freckle-faced  boy. 
But  the  freckle-faced  boy  was  not  used  to 
royalty  and  its  ways,  so  he  pushed  his  in 
quiry. 

"  Say,  Piggy,  have  you  got  your  red  ball- 
pants  in  that  bundle?" 

There  was  no  reply.  The  freckle-faced 
boy  grew  tired  of  tattooing  with  a  stick  as 
they  walked  beside  a  paling  fence,  so  he  be 
gan  touching  every  tree  on  the  other  side  of 
the  path  with  his  fingers.  They  had  gone  a 
block  when  the  freckle-faced  boy  could  stand 
it  no  longer,  and  said: 

"Say,  Piggy,  you  need  n't  be  so  smart 
82 


THE  KING   OF  BOYVILLE 

about  your  old  bundle;  now,  honest,  Piggy, 
what  have  you  got  in  that  bundle?" 

"Aw— soft  soap;  take  a  bite— good  fer 
your  appetite,"  said  the  King,  as  he  faced 
about  and  drew  up  his  left  cheek  and  lower 


eyelid  pugnaciously.  The  freckle-faced  boy 
saw  he  would  have  to  fight  if  he  stayed,  so 
he  turned  to  go,  and  said,  as  though  nothing 
had  happened,  "  Where  do  you  suppose  old 
Abe  is  anyhow?" 

Just  before  school  was  called,  Piggy  Pen- 
nington  was  playing  "scrub"  with  all  his 
83 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

might,  and  a  little  girl— his  Heart's  Desire 
-was  taking  out  of  her  desk  a  wreath  of 
roses  tied  to  a  shaky  wire  frame.  There 
was  a  crowd  of  girls  round  her  admiring  it, 
and  speculating  about  the  probable  author 
of  the  gift;  but  to  these  she  did  not  show  the 
patent-medicine  card  on  which  was  scrawled 
over  the  druggist's  advertisement,  "  Yours 
truly,  W.  H.  P." 

When  the  last  bell  rang,  Piggy  Pennington 
was  the  last  boy  in,  and  he  did  not  look  to 
ward  the  desk  where  he  had  put  the  flowers 
until  after  the  singing.  Then  he  stole  a  side- 
wise  glance  that  way,  and  his  Heart's  Desire 
was  deep  in  her  geography.  It  was  an  age 
before  she  filed  past  him  with  the  "  B  "  class 
in  geography,  and  took  a  seat  directly  in 
front  of  him,  where  he  could  look  at  her  all 
the  time,  unobserved  by  her.  Once  she 
squirmed  in  her  place  and  looked  toward 
him,  but  Piggy  Pennington  was  head  over 
heels  in  the  "  Iser  rolling  rapidly."  When 
their  eyes  did  meet  at  last,  just  as  Piggy, 
leading  the  marching  around  the  room,  was 
at  the  door  to  go  out  for  recess,  the  thrill 
84 


THE  KING   OF  BOYVILLE 

amounted  to  a  shock  that  sent  him  whirling 
in  a  pinwheel  of  handsprings  toward  the  ball- 
ground,  shouting  "  scrub — first  bat,  first  bat, 
first  bat,"  from  sheer  bubbling  joy.  Piggy 
made  four  tallies  that  recess,  and  the  other 
boys  could  n't  have  put  him  out  if  they  had 
used  a  hand-grenade  or  a  Babcock  fire- 
extinguisher. 

He  received  four  distinct  shots  that  day 
from  the  eyes  of  his  Heart's  Desire,  and  the 
last  one  sent  him  home  on  the  run,  tripping 
up  every  primary  urchin  whom  he  found  tag 
ging  along  by  the  way,  and  whooping  at  the 
top  of  his  voice.  When  his  friends  met  in 
his  barn,  some  fifteen  minutes  later,  Piggy 
tried  to  turn  a  double  somersault  from  his 
spring-board,  to  the  admiration  of  the  crowd, 
and  was  only  calmed  by  falling  with  his  full 
weight  on  his  head  and  shoulders  at  the  edge 
of  the  hay,  with  the  life  nearly  jolted  out  of 
his  little  body. 

The  next  morning  Piggy  Pennington  aston 
ished  his  friends  by  bringing  a  big  armful  of 
red  and  yellow  and  pink  and  white  roses  to 
school.  He  had  never  done  this  before;  and 
85 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

when  he  had  run  the  gantlet  of  the  big  boys, 
who  were  not  afraid  to  steal  them  from  him, 
he  made  straight  for  his  school-room,  and 
stood  holding  them  in  his  hands  while  the 
girls  gathered  about  him,  teasing  for  the 


beauties.  It  was  nearly  time  for  the  last 
bell  to  ring,  and  Piggy  knew  that  his  Heart's 
Desire  would  be  in  the  room  by  the  time  he 
got  there.  He  was  not  mistaken.  But 
Heart's  Desire  did  not  clamor  with  the 
other  girls  for  one  of  the  roses.  Piggy 
86 


THE  KING   OF  BOYVILLE 

stood  off  their  pleadings  as  long  as  he  could 
with  "  Naw"; "  Why,  naw,  of  course  I  won't "; 
"Naw;  what  I  want  to  give  you  one  for?" 
and  "  Go  away  from  here,  I  tell  you."  Still 


Heart's  Desire  did  not  ask  for  her  flowers. 
There  were  but  a  few  moments  left  before 
school  would  be  called  to  order,  and  in  des 
peration  Piggy  gave  one  rose  away.  It  was 

87 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

not  a  very  pretty  rose,  but  he  hoped  she 
would  see  that  the  others  were  to  be  given 
away,  and  ask  for  one.  But  she,  his  Heart's 
Desire,  stood  near  a  window  talking  to  the 
freckle-faced  boy.  Then  Piggy  gave  away 
one  rose  after  another.  As  the  last  bell  be 
gan  to  ring  he  gave  them  to  the  boys,  as  the 
girls  were  all  supplied.  And  still  she  came 
not.  There  was  one  rose  left,  the  most  beau 
tiful  of  all.  She  went  to  her  desk,  and  as  the 
teacher  came  in,  bell  in  hand,  Piggy  surprised 
himself,  the  teacher,  and  the  school  by  lay 
ing  the  beautiful  flower,  without  a  word,  on 
the  teacher's  desk.  That  day  was  a  dark  day. 
When  a  new  boy,  who  did  n't  belong  to  the 
school,  came  up  at  recess  to  play,  Piggy 
shuffled  over  to  him  and  asked  gruffly: 

"  What's  your  name?" 

"Puddin'  'n'  tame,  ast  me  ag'in  an'  I  '11 
tell  you  the  same,"  said  the  new  boy,  and 
then  there  was  a  fight.  It  did  n't  soothe 
Piggy's  feelings  one  bit  that  he  whipped  the 
new  boy,  for  the  new  boy  was  smaller  than 
Piggy.  And  he  dared  not  turn  his  flushed 
face  toward  his  Heart's  Desire.  It  was 


THE  KING   OF  BOYVILLE 

almost  four  o'clock  when  Piggy  Penning- 
ton  walked  to  the  master's  desk  to  get  him 
to  work  out  a  problem,  and  as  he  passed  the 
desk  of  Heart's  Desire  he  dropped  a  note  in 
her  lap.  It  read: 

"Are  you  mad?" 

But  he  dared  not  look  for  an  answer  as 
they  marched  out  that  night,  so  he  contented 
himself  with  punching  the  boy  ahead  of  him 
with  a  pin,  and  stepping  on  his  heels  when 
they  were  in  the  back  part  of  the  room, 
where  the  teacher  would  not  see  him.  The 
King  of  Boyville  walked  home  alone  that 
evening.  The  courtiers  saw  plainly  that  his 
majesty  was  troubled. 

So  his  lonely  way  was  strewn  with  broken 
stick-horses  which  he  took  from  the  little 
boys,  and  was  marked  with  trees  adorned 
with  the  string  which  he  took  from  other 
youngsters  who  ran  across  his  pathway  play 
ing  horse.  In  his  barn  he  sat  listlessly  on  a 
nail-keg,  while  Abe  and  the  freckle-faced  boy 
did  their  deeds  of  daring  on  the  rings  and 
the  trapeze.  Only  when  the  new  boy  came 
in  did  Piggy  arouse  himself  to  mount  the 
89 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

flying  bar,  and,  swinging  in  it  to  the  very 
rafters,  drop  and  hang  by  his  knees,  and 
again  drop  from  his  knees,  catching  his 
ankle  in  the  angle  of  the  rope  where  it 
meets  the  swinging  bar.  That  was  to  awe 
the  new  boy. 

After  this  feat  the  King  was  quiet. 

At  dusk,  when  the  evening  chores  were 
done,  Piggy  Pennington  walked  past  the  home 
of  his  Heart's  Desire,  and  howled  out  a  dole 
ful  ballad  which  began: 

"  You  ask  what  makes  this  darky  wee-eep, 
Why  he  like  others  am  not  gay." 

But  a  man  on  the  sidewalk,  passing,  said: 
"  Well,  son,  that 's  pretty  good;  but  would  n't 
you  just  as  lief  sing  as  to  make  that  noise?" 
So  the  King  went  to  bed  with  a  heavy  heart. 
He  took  that  heart  to  school  with  him 
the  next  morning,  and  dragged  it  over  the 
school-ground,  playing  crack-the-whip  and 
"  stinkbase."  But  when  he  saw  Heart's  De 
sire  wearing  in  her  hair  one  of  the  white 
roses  from  his  mother's  garden— the  Pen- 
ningtons  had  the  only  white  roses  in  the 
90 


THE  KING   OF  BOYVILLE 

little  town— he  knew  it  was  from  the  wreath 
he  had  given  her,  and  so  light  was  his  boy 
ish  heart  that  it  was  with  an  effort  that  he 
kept  it  out  of  his  throat.  There  were  smiles 
and  smiles  that  day.  During  the  singing 
they  began,  and  every  time  she  came  past 
him  from  a  class,  and  every  time  he  could 
pry  his  eyes  behind  her  geography  or  her 
grammar,  a  flood  of  gladness  swept  over  his 
soul.  That  night  Piggy  Pennington  followed 
the  girls  from  the  school-house  to  the  post- 
office,  and  in  a  burst  of  enthusiasm  walked 
on  his  hands  in  front  of  the  crowd  for  nearly 
half  a  block. 

When  his  Heart's  Desire  said,  "Oh!  ain't 
you  afraid  you  '11  hurt  yourself  doing  that?  " 
Piggy  pretended  not  to  hear  her,  and  said  to 
the  boys: 

"  Aw,  that  ain't  nuthin';  come  down  to  my 
barn  and  I  '11  do  somepin'  that  '11  make  your 
head  swim." 

He  was  too  exuberant  to  contain  himself, 

and  when  he  left  the  girls  he  started  to  run 

after  a  stray  chicken  that  happened  along, 

and  ran  till  he  was  out  of  breath.     He  did 

91 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

not  mean  to  run  in  the  direction  his  Heart's 
Desire  had  taken,  but  he  turned  a  corner  and 
came  up  with  her  suddenly. 

Her  eyes  beamed  upon  him,  and  he  could 


not  run  away  as  he  wished.     She  made  room 
for  him  on  the  sidewalk,  and  he  could  do  noth 
ing  but  walk  beside  her.     For  a  block  they 
were  so  embarrassed  that  neither  spoke. 
92 


THE  KING   OF  BOYVILLE 

It  was  Piggy  who  broke  the  silence.  His 
words  came  from  his  heart.  He  had  not  yet 
learned  to  speak  otherwise. 

"  Where  's  your  rose?"  he  asked,  not  see 
ing  it. 

"  What  rose? "  said  the  girl,  as  though  she 
had  never  in  her  short  life  heard  of  such  an 
absurd  thing  as  a  rose. 

"  Oh,  you  know,"  returned  the  boy,  step 
ping  irregularly,  to  make  the  tips  of  his  toes 
come  on  the  cracks  in  the  sidewalk.  There 
was  another  pause,  during  which  Piggy 
picked  up  a  pebble  and  threw  it  at  a  bird  in 
a  tree.  His  heart  was  sinking  rapidly. 

"Oh,  that  rose?"  said  his  Heart's  Desire, 
turning  full  upon  him  with  the  enchantment 
of  her  childish  eyes.  "  Why,  here  it  is  in  my 
grammar.  I  ?m  taking  it  to  keep  with  the 
others.  Why?" 

"  Oh,  nuthin'  much,"  replied  the  boy.  "  1  bet 
you  can't  do  this,"  he  added,  as  he  glowed  up 
into  her  eyes  from  an  impulsive  handspring. 

And  thus  the  King  of  Boyville  first  set  his 
light  little  foot  upon  the  soil  of  an  unknown 
country. 

93 


THE  MERRY  THANKSGIVING  OF  THE 
BURGLAR  AND  PLUMBER 

A  THANKSGIVING  STORY 

BY 

OCTAVE  THANET 


THE  MERRY  THANKSGIVING  OF  THE 
BURGLAR  AND  PLUMBER 

A   THANKSGIVING  STORY 


MISS  ELINOR  MERRYWEATHER  went 
to  bed  Thanksgiving  evening  in  a 
graceless  frame  of  mind—  at  least  in  a  frame 
of  mind  that  may  pass  for  graceless  in  a 
woman  of  such  kindly  nature  as  Miss  Merry- 
weather.  '*  You  may  go,  Robbins,"  she  said 
to  her  faithful  maid,  "  and  you  and  Harriet  " 
(Harriet  was  the  cook)  "  and  Matilda  "  (Ma 
tilda  was  the  waitress)  "  may  all  go  to  that 
party  at  James's  "  (James  was  the  gardener). 
"  I  shall  not  need  any  of  you." 

"  I  hate  to  leave  you  alone,  Miss  Elinor," 
said  Robbins,  and  hesitated,  knowing  Miss 
97 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

Merryweather  well  enough  not  to  ask  her 
would  she  be  afraid.  She  did  not  do  much 
better  to  blurt  out:  "They  do  say  there  's 
burglars  in  town,  ma'am!" 

"Very  well,"  responded  Miss  Merry- 
weather,  with  unshaken  calm,— whatever 
her  faults,  timidity  never  was  charged  to 
her,—  "be  sure  you  lock  all  the  doors  and 
windows  securely.  And  you  may  as  well  see 
that  the  galvanic  battery  works  all  right. 
Good  night— a  pleasant  time  to  you." 

Bobbins  knew  when  her  mistress  used  this 
tone  that  argument  would  be  vain;  so,  dis 
comfited,  and  with  more  than  one  wistful 
glance  backward  in  the  hall,  she  retired. 

Miss  Merryweather  began  to  walk  up  and 
down  the  room.  It  was  an  attractive  room, 
with  the  soft  ivory  gleam  of  the  paint,  and 
the  sprangly,  old-fashioned  flowers  on  the 
creamy  walls.  These  walls  were  thickly  hung 
with  water-color  sketches  and  pen-and-ink 
and  wash  drawings,  which  gave  one  an  eery 
sensation  of  familiarity,  like  faces  seen  in  a 
dream;  and  sometimes,  by  some  clever  people 
of  long  memories,  were  traced  to  a  favorite 
98 


THE  MERRY   THANKSGIVING 

illustrator,  being,  in  fact,  by  famous  ar 
tists,  their  original  drawings  for  well-known 
magazines. 

One  perceived,  also,  an  old-fashioned  air, 
due  to  the  presence  of  certain  chairs  and 
tables,  luxuriantly  carved  in  dull-hued  oak, 
or  tinted  in  old  marquetry.  In  one  corner 
of  the  room  a  cabinet  showed  all  the  daz 
zling  hues  of  rare  old  china:  the  sumptuous 
gilding  of  Satsuma,  the  delicate  forms  of  old 
Sevres,  the  solider  opulence  of  color  and  shape 
of  the  great  English  makers.  A  davenport 
in  one  corner,  a  lounge  with  many  pillows 
in  another,  and  a  tea-table  with  its  shining 
equipage,  hinted  the  room  to  be  Miss  Merry- 
weather's  own  special  sitting-room.  She 
never  called  it  a  boudoir,  and  nothing  made 
her  more  indignant  than  to  hear  the  name 
from  any  one  else.  "  Do  /  look  like  a  woman 
who  would  have  a  boudoir?"  she  had  been 
known  to  demand,  almost  with  fierceness. 
"  A  boudoir  is  a  place  where  girls  with  sloppy 
hair  read  poetry  and  write  notes  on  scented 
paper,  and  make  poor  tea  that  they  sip  with 
souvenir  spoons.  Look  at  my  spoons — they 
99 


DO   I   LOOK    LIKE   A    WOMAN    WHO   WOULD   HAVE   A 
BOUDOIR  ?  " 


THE  MERRY  THANKSGIVING 


are  truly  apostles  ;  und  .  is.  n't*  that*  Eve 
sprawling  by  that  ridiculous  river  on  that 
Capo  di  Monti  tea-pot  delicious?  Taste  my 
tea—  a  friend  brought  it  to  me  from  Russia; 
did  you  ever  taste  such  tea  in  a  boudoir  ?  I 
think  not!"  Miss  Merryweather's  tea  was 
celebrated  among  all  who  were  so  fortunate 
as  to  drink  it;  but  it  was  not  the  tea-table  to 
which  the  eye  of  a  new-comer  instinctively 
turned  —  it  was  a  heavy  Italian  chest,  the  lid 
adorned  by  two  curiously  wrought  iron 
handles,  the  chest  itself  of  age-stained  oak, 
having  divers  vague  and  grisly  traditions 
connecting  it  with  the  treasure  of  a  convent 
and  the  murder  of  faithful  guardians  by 
vandal  robbers.  By  a  natural  divagation  of 
the  mind,  the  chest  had  become  Miss  Merry- 
weather's  safe,  and  contained,  it  was  said,  a 
bona-fide  iron  safe  wherein  was  deposited  the 
famous  Merryweather  plate,  some  descended 
from  colonial  Merry  weathers,  some  presented 
by  brother  officers  to  the  late  General  Merry- 
weather.  Also,  therein  sparkled  the  jewels 
of  Miss  Merryweather,  which  would  not  have 
been  despised  in  a  large  city,  and  were  re- 
101 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 


*  *  •      *  '••«  f          ,  6 

garcfec!  :wit"h  a\tQ,m'°as^.It)wa  town.  Miss 
Merryweather,  though  a  spinster,  and  no 
longer  young,  was  fond,  on  proper  occasions, 
of  magnificence  in  dress.  In  general  she 
wore  simple  costumes,  always  of  black,  which 
recognized,  but  did  not  slavishly  defer  to, 
fashion.  But  for  high  toilets  she  had  satins 
and  velvets,  and  lace  as  ancient  as  her  china. 
In  person  Miss  Merryweather  was  tall  and 
thin;  but  she  had  a  mantua-maker  that  un 
derstood  her  business.  When  she  was  young, 
and  her  hair  was  black,  Miss  Merryweather's 
Roman  features  might  have  seemed  large, 
however  finely  chiseled.  Now,  framed  in 
softest  iron-gray,  they  were  commonly  de 
scribed  as  "  so  distinguished."  She  was  of  a 
fine  carriage,  a  figure  to  notice  on  the  streets, 
especially  as  she  was  a  trifle  absent-minded, 
and  when  she  walked  had  the  habit  of  sway 
ing  her  shapely  right  hand  from  side  to  side 
as  if  addressing  an  invisible  audience  in  in 
audible  words.  She  had  a  warm  heart  and 
a  quick  temper,  and  she  had  been  known  to 
arrest  (with  the  aid  of  sympathetic  bystand 
ers)  at  least  half  a  dozen  oppressors  of  dumb 
102 


THE  MERRY   THANKSGIVING 

brutes.  She  did  not  keep  a  single  cat  in  the 
house.  In  pussy's  place  she  petted  a  majes 
tic  St.  Bernard.  , 

Whatever  her  eccentricities,— I  must 
grant  her  some,— she  was  greatly  beloved  by 
her  fellow-townsmen,  and  those  who  knew 
her  best  loved  her  most  strongly.  She  had, 
however,  a  will  of  her  own.  And  she  was 
one  who,  in  the  language  of  Holy  Writ,  kept 
her  promise  to  her  hurt.  Thus,  sometimes, 
an  impetuous  temper  led  her  into  imprudent 
declarations,  out  of  which  she  could  not 
always  extricate  herself  without  great  exer 
cise  of  her  wits.  Her  latest  dilemma  en 
grossed  her  to-night.  Having  had  the  plumb 
ing  of  her  dwelling  repaired,  in  an  unlucky 
moment  there  had  come  a  quarrel  with 
the  plumbers'  union,  over  a  bill.  The  result 
was  that  she  sent  away  "  every  man  swindler 
of  them  all,"— I  would  not  be  understood  to 
indorse  her  words, — and  was  left  with  the 
water  service  of  the  house  cut  off,  and  water 
hauled  from  the  cisterns  and  a  single  faucet 
in  the  garden,  while  friends  sniffed  appre 
hensively  whenever  they  entered  the  house, 
103 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

and  asked  her  was  she  not  afraid  of  sewer- 
gas  ?  And  her  niece  (who  was  as  a  daughter  to 
her)  did  not  dare  to  bring  the  baby  to  spend 
Thanksgiving,  because  the  child  might  catch 
diphtheria  through  the  deadly  leaking  pipes. 

" Stuff!"  said  Miss  Merryweather,  who 
used  strong  expressions  sometimes,  being 
by  birth  and  breeding  quite  too  great  a  lady 
to  disturb  herself  about  the  minor  conven 
tions.  "Stuff  and  nonsense!  There  are  no 
leaks.  But  I  'm  not  going  to  argue  with  you, 
Helen;  I  shall  get  a  plumber  and  have  you 
come  Thanksgiving." 

Then,  discerning  a  peculiar  smile  on  the 
amiable  features  of  Helen's  husband,  she 
added  gravely,  "He  will  not  belong  to  the 
union.  If  I  have  to  wait  to  hire  a  union 
plumber  I  shall  wait  until  the  pipes  tumble 
to  pieces!" 

But  the  imported  plumber  who  was  to  put 
the  forces  of  organized  labor  to  rout  did  not 
come,  although,  such  is  the  extraordinary 
working  of  the  feminine  logic,  he  was  offered 
as  high  wages  as  the  erring  and  grasping 
union  plumbers  had  been  refused. 
104 


THE  MERRY   THANKSGIVING 

Miss  Merryweather  was  sure  that  he  had 
either  been  bought  off  or  assassinated  by  the 
union.  She  paid  no  heed  to  the  theory 
meekly  tendered  by  Helen's  husband,  to  wit, 
that,  knowing  the  man's  habits,  he  had  cause 
to  suspect  he  was  simply  celebrating  Thanks 
giving  in  an  unholy  manner,  on  his  own 
account. 

"No,  poor  fellow,"  she  murmured;  "most 
likely  he  is  lying  dead  in  some  alleyway,  with 
all  his  ribs  broken.  They  do  such  things." 
Therefore  it  was  with  a  gloomy  soul  she  be 
held  the  night  before  Thanksgiving.  "I 
never  was  so  little  thankful  in  my  life,"  she 
murmured,  "and  I  was  so  bent  on  having 
that  plumbing  done  in  time  to  have  Helen, 
and  show  that  Vance  that  I  am  a  match  for 
the  plumbers'  union,  if  I  am  a  lone  woman." 
Miss  Merry  weather  was  not  used  to  be  beaten; 
it  galled.  She  had  mailed  letters  to  different 
plumbers  asking  for  bids  by  telegraph;  but, 
peer  as  she  might,  she  could  not  see  a  loop 
hole  of  escape  for  herself  this  time. 

She  went  to  bed  early,  but  for  a  long 
while  she  could  not  sleep.  She  thought  of 
105 


TALES  FROM  McCLURN'S 

the  plumbers'  union  and  her  own  defeat,  and 
raged  anew. 

And  when,  at  last,  she  was  just  slipping 
off  into  the  shadows  of  peace,  she  heard  the 
softest  of  footfalls.  Surely  she  had  closed 
the  door  on  Diogenes,  the  dog !  Had  n't  she 
closed  the  door?  Her  mind  drove  her  back- 
'ward  over  that  hasty  journey  through  the 
rooms  down-stairs.  Diogenes  had  a  mat  in 
the  laundry,  and  the  range  of  the  kitchen. 
She  certainly  had  closed  one  of  the  kitchen 
doors.  Had  n't  she  closed  the  kitchen  door 
up-stairs?  She  had— at  least  she  had  seen 
that  the  door  to  the  cellar  was  fast,  and  she 
thought  she  had  bolted  the  door  up-stairs. 
How  did  people  ever  feel  certain  enough 
about  anything  to  swear  that  it  happened? 
The  footsteps  were  nearer,  in  the  sitting- 
room  which  adjoined  the  chamber.  Her  first 
thought  was  for  the  safety  of  the  tea-table 
with  its  precious  freight.  She  was  sure  if 
she  called  to  the  dog  kindly  he  would  begin 
wagging  his  tail,  that  tremendous  brush 
which,  with  one  sweep,  might  hurl  her  idols 
into  irredeemable,  smashing,  crashing  ruin! 
106 


THE  MERRY   THANKSGIVING 

Sternness  was  the  only  chance!  "Down, 
charge,  Di!"  she  commanded.  "Bad  dog! 
Dawn!" 

A  particularly  mild  voice  answered  her: 
"It  ain't  a  dog,  miss;  it 's  a  man!" 

"A  man?"  repeated  Miss  Merryweather. 
"Well!" 

Of  course  it  was  not  well ;  but  Miss  Merry- 
weather  just  then  did  not  think  of  the  nicer 
meaning  of  words. 

''  Yes,  ma'am,"  the  voice  repeated;  "  don't 
be  alarmed;  I  'm  a  man— a  burglar!" 

Miss  Merryweather  showed  no  signs  of 
alarm;  in  the  first  place,  she  had  a  fearless 
soul;  in  the  second  place,  the  voice  was  so 
mild,  so  almost  apologetic,  that  it  aroused 
her  sense  of  humor. 

"  I  don't  know  but  that  you  are  less  of  a 
nuisance  than  the  dog  would  be,"  said  she. 
"  You  stay  right  where  you  are,  and  I  will 
turn  on  the  electric  lights.  Don't  move  or 
you  '11  hit  something!" 

"All  right,  ma'am,"  said  the  burglar; "  only 
no  pulling  out  a  pop,  you  know,  and  firing  it 
off  at  me  in  the  dark,  hit  or  miss!" 
107 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

"  Certainly  not;  at  least  not  until  I  can  see 
you,"  said  Miss  Merryweather.  All  the  while 
she  was  hastily  donning  a  wrapper  and  slip 
pers.  Then  she  turned  on  the  lights. 

The  burglar  stood  directly  under  the  blaze. 
He  did  not  look  like  a  burglar.  There  was 
nothing  much  in  his  pale  face  except  the  look 
of  recent  sickness  and  hopelessness.  His 
clothes  were  like  any  workman's,  a  pair  of 
blue,  soiled  overalls  with  something  like  a 
bib  front,  and  a  patched  check  shirt.  His 
hat  (it  was  a  hat,  and  not  the  cap  in  which 
artists,  for  reasons  best  known  to  them 
selves,  delight  to  depict  the  burglar)  was  a 
very  battered  soft  felt,  and  it  was  not  pulled 
down  over  his  black  brows;  it  was  pushed 
back  from  dark-brown  locks.  He  looked  like 
a  workman  out  of  a  job.  His  hands,  one  of 
which  held  a  pistol,  were  calloused  and 
stained— a  workingman's  hands. 

When  Miss  Merryweather  loomed  upon  him 

—one  may  say  darted,  since  that  was  the 

effect  of  the  springing  of  the  light  upon 

her  image— he  lifted  his  empty  hand  to  his 

hat. 

108 


THE  BURGLAR  STOOD   DIRECTLY   UNDER 
THE   BLAZE." 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

"I  don't  want  to  disturb  you,  ma'am," 
he  repeated,  "  but  I  've  got  to  have  some 
money!" 

"Why?"  said  Miss  Merry  weather.  She 
was  quite  at  her  ease  and  had  taken  a  rock 
ing-chair. 

"  Why  ?  "  the  man  echoed  bitterly.  "  Be 
cause  I  prefer  to  steal  to  see  my  wife 
dying  for  want  of  things  done  for  her,  and 
my  children  without  shoes  to  their  feet,  and 

never  a  bite  among  us  all  this  day,  by ! 

I  beg  your  pardon,  lady;  I  was  n't  meaning  to 
swear,  but  I  'm  wore  out ! " 

"Have  n't  you  had  anything  to  eat  to 
day?"  said  Miss  Merry  weather. 

He  shook  his  head.  A  stiff  lock  of  brown 
hair  which  stood  up  on  the  top  of  his  head 
waggled  at  the  motion;  it  gave  him  a 
grotesque  look.  He  certainly  was  fright 
fully  thin. 

"Humph ! "  said  Miss  Merry  weather.  "  You 
sit  down  in  that  rocking-chair  and  stay  there 
until  I  come  up  again.  Don't  you  burgle  any 
until  I  come  back;  then  we  '11  see  what  we 
can  do." 

110 


THE  MERRY   THANKSGIVING 

"  You  ain't  going  to  telephone  to  the  police 
to  nab  me?" 

Miss  Merryweather  waved  her  hand  toward 
the  wall  at  a  telephone. 

"It  is  n't  customary  in  houses  of  people 
who  are  not  millionaires  to  have  two  tele 
phones,"  said  she.  "  I  am  going  to  bring  you 
something  to  eat." 

"I  won't  touch  a  thing,  lady,"  promised 
the  burglar;  "  I  Ve  been  druv'  to  this,  I  truly 
have." 

Miss  Merryweather  encouraged  him  by  a 
nod,  and  departed,  lighted  candle  in  hand. 

Never,  it  seemed  to  her,  had  she  heard  so 
many  sinister  noises  as  pricked  her  ears 
while  her  candle  flitted  from  pantry  to  side 
board.  Boards  creaked  under  her  tread  as 
they  never  creaked  in  the  daytime,  and  every 
door  she  touched  sent  up  a  long  shriek  of 
remonstrance. 

But  Diogenes  slept  calmly  in  the  laundry. 
Miss  Merryweather  shook  her  head.  She 
carried  a  revolver  in  her  hand,  which  she 
laid  on  the  tray.  "  He  seems  like  a  decent 
sort  of  submerged  unfortunate,"— thus  ran 
111 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

her  meditations  while  she  provisioned  the 
tray,—"  but  he  may  be  wicked  and  run  after 
me  down-stairs.  If  he  does,  Di  and  the  gun 
will  have  to  hurt  him." 

She  thought  of  waking  the  sleeping  dog 
and  taking  him  up-stairs;  but  the  peril  to  the 
china  of  Diogenes's  clumsy  bulk  seemed  so 
much  greater  to  her  intrepid  soul  than  any 
personal  danger  from  the  mild-mannered 
burglar  that  she  dismissed  the  suggestion 
as  soon  as  it  appeared.  When  she  entered 
her  sitting-room  again,  and  saw  how  starved 
and  tired  her  burglar  looked,  she  was  glad 
of  her  decision. 

He  was  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  his  pistol 
still  in  one  limp  hand,  his  head  laid  back, 
showing  his  miserably  thin  neck,  and  the 
white  glare  full  on  the  haggard  pallor  of  his 
face. 

His  eye  brightened  at  the  sight  of  the  tray. 
Miss  Merryweather,  making  no  comment, 
lighted  the  lamp  under  the  silver  chafing-dish, 
and  as  it  burned  she  buttered  the  slices  of 
bread  and  placed  beef  between  them. 

"  I  am  afraid  the  beef  is  a  little  underdone 
112 


THE  MERRY   THANKSGIVING 

for  your  taste,"  observed  she,  kindly,  "  and 
I  hope  you  don't  care  for  mustard,  for  I  for 
got  it;  but  I  Ve  put  on  salt  and  pepper,  and 
they  were  the  best-done  pieces  I  could  find. 
The  soup  will  be  warm  in  a  minute.  Now, 
you  drink  this  glass  of  wine." 

The  man  drank  it,  keeping  his  eyes  on  her. 
Then  he  laid  the  pistol  on  the  table.  "  I  ain't 
going  to  use  it,"  he  said. 

"  Much  better  not,"  returned  Miss  Merry- 
weather.  "  The  truth  is,  I  have  long  had  a 
curiosity  to  see  a  burglar,  and  I  rather  have 
planned  things  that  way;  but  I  did  n't  expect 
he  would  be  so  decent  as  you  seem.  How  do 
you  like  that  wine?  It 's  old  Jacques  port." 
The  burglar  looked  rather  bewildered,  but 
answered  that  it  was  the  best  wine  he  had 
ever  tasted.  He  added  ingenuously  that  he 
had  "  not  tasted  much  wine." 

"You  are  not  at  all  like  a  professional 
burglar,"  remarked  the  lady,  who  had  now 
come  to  ladling  out  the  steaming  soup;  "I 
think  you  must  be  an  amateur." 

"I  never  touched  a  thing  't  was  n't  my 

own  before,  lady,  so  help  me !" 

113 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

"  Well,  you  have  n't  touched  anything  yet, 
now,"  interrupted  Miss  Merryweather,  who 
had  a  mania  for  accuracy.  She  continued: 
"I  suppose  you  are  putting  that  sandwich 
into  your  pocket  for  your  family— don't  do 
it!  I  '11  make  you  up  a  basket  for  them. 
Tell  me  what  brought  you,  such  a  decent 
man,  to  this  pass?" 

The  man  smeared  his  eyes  with  his  hand 
before  he  began.  "  I  never  seen  a  lady  like 
you,"  said  he;  "I  'm  just  going  to  tell  you 
the  honest  truth.  I  was  working  in  Chicago. 
I  belonged  to  the  junior  plumbers—" 

"  Oh,  if  you  were  a  plumber  it  must  have 
come  natural  to  you  to  rob!" 

The  burglar  acknowledged  the  sally  by  a 
faint  smile.  "  We  ain't  so  bad  as  they  make 
us  out.  Well,  hard  times  came  and  work  fell 
off,  and  the  union  would  n't  let  us  work  be 
low  wages,  so  I  left  the  union— fact  is,  I 
could  n't  keep  up  my  dues — " 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  cried  Miss 

Merryweather,  springing  from  her  chair  in 

strong  agitation — "do  you  mean  to  tell  me 

you  are  not  a  union  man?     Don't  think  of 

114 


DO  YOU   MEAN  TO  TELL  ME   YOU  ARE  NOT   A 

UNION   MAN?" 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

burgling  me!  I  can  give  you  a  great  deal 
better  job,  and  I  will  advance  you  money  on 
it,  too.  This  house  is  only  about  half 
plumbed;  if  you  will  take  hold  and  get  this 
plumbing  done  by  six  o'clock  to-morrow,  I  '11 
pay  you  well!  And  you  shall  have  two  men 
to  help  you  who  are  n't  plumbers,  but  have 
some  sense;  and  a  boy  to  run  to  the  shop 
to  get  the  tools.  Are  you  a  good  plumber?  " 

"  Yes  'm,  I  was;  but,  you  see,  I  went  to 
Pullman  and  worked  there  till  the  strike 
came.  I  did  n't  strike,  but  I  joined  the 
A.  R.  U.  afterward,  so  as  to  get  the  relief. 
The  strike  lasted  so  long  I  used  up  all  my 
savings,  and  then  I  did  n't  get  back  after 
all.  So  I  'm  a  little  out  of  practice.  But  I 
guess  I  can  satisfy  you.  I  '11  try  hard." 

"You  shall  have  a  chance  anyhow.  So 
you  went  to  Pullman;  and  why  did  n't  you 
get  back  there  when  the  strike  ended?" 

"  They  did  n't  take  all  the  men,  ma'am;  and 
I  heard  of  a  job  in  Chicago,  so  I  moved  there, 
and  I  got  it  sure  enough,  but  it  only  lasted 
a  little  while;  and  then  I  wrote  to  the  new 
factory  they  was  starting  here,  the  glucose- 
116 


THE  MERRY  THANKSGIVING 

works,  and  I  got  a  job,  but  the  first  week  I 
come  down  with  typhoid  fever,  and  I  worked 
with  the  fever  on  me;  and  I  did  take  whisky 
to  kinder  hold  me  up,  for  I  was  wild  to  think 
of  losing  my  job;  but  I  was  n't  drunk,  though 
somebody  said  so.  So  I  lost  it  and  another 
feller  got  it— well,  I  guess  he  needed  it  bad, 
too.  But  that 's  how  it  was.  I  went  home 
and  was  sick  awful  bad  for  six  weeks,  and 
when  I  got  up  again  there  was  nothing  I 
could  get;  and  the  baby  come  just  then,  God 
forgive  it!  and  I  guess  he  knowed  he  was 
none  too  welcome,  for  he  's  been  hollering 
ever  since.  Doctor  says  he  needs  some 
kinder  food,  nestling  food,  or  some  sich 
name,  and  I  wanted  to  git  it,  for  I  someway 
don't  jest  want  him  to  die,  if  he  is  mean! 
Then  I  wanted  to  git  my  woman  things; 
she  's  an  awful  nice  woman,  I  '11  say  that, 
and  about  all  we  've  got  she  's  earned  wash 
ing.  I  've  been  out  a  week,  walking  about 
a  hundred  miles,  I  guess,  begging  for  a  job 
everywhere  I  heard  jobs  were  to  be  had ;  but 
you  see  we  were  strangers,  and  there  ain't 
enough  work  to  go  round  'mong  the  old 
117 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

men.  To-day,  as  I  went  back  from  the  shoe- 
factory  'cross  the  river,  and  seen  all  the 
turkeys  in  the  winders,  and  remembered  how 
there  was  n't  a  bite  in  our  house  for  to-day 
nor  for  to-morrow,  and  looked  at  the  rich 
folks  that  don't  love  their  families  a  mite 
better  'n  I  love  mine,  I  got  kinder  wild,  I 
guess.  I  never  had  gredged  rich  folks  their 
money  before.  I  was  willing  to  work  hard 
and  not  to  have  very  much;  but  now  it  seems 
as  if  there  was  n't  an  inch  of  room  for  me 
and  my  family  on  this  earth.  We  'd  pawned 
every  last  thing  we  could  pawn,  and  there 
we  was— a-starving!" 

"  But,  goodness  gracious! "  exclaimed  Miss 
Merryweather,  who  had  with  difficulty  re 
frained  from  interrupting  him  before,  "why 
did  n't  you  go  to  the  Associated  Charities  or 
to  the  Industrial  Aid?" 

"You  see,  lady,  we  ain't  used  to  being 
poor;  we  did  n't  know  about  them  places. 
Lady,  I  tell  you,  it  ain't  the  poverty  poor  that 
gits  squeezed  the  hardest  when  there  's  hard 
times ;  bless  you,  no !  They  're  used  to  leanin' 
on  other  folks,  and  they  just  lop  over  a  leetle 
118 


THE  MERRY  THANKSGIVING 

heavier.  But  it 's  the  decent  folks  that  never 
knew  the  way  to  the  poor-overseer's  office 
before,  or  even  to  the  pawnshop,  that  catch 
it.  They  suffer  and  don't  holler  about  it." 

"I  see,"  said  Miss  Merryweather;  "go 
on!" 

"There  ain't  much  more,"  said  the  man, 
very  neatly  folding  the  napkin.  "  I  told  my 
wife  I  had  got  a  job  and  I  would  have  the 
money  for  a  turkey  to-morrow;  not  to  fret, 
I  'd  git  some  advanced.  I  went  straight  out, 
meaning  to  enter  somebody's  house  and  git 
enough  to  buy  a  Thanksgiving  dinner.  I 
prowled  about  for  a  long  time,  first  deciding 
on  one  house  and  then  on  another.  By  and 
by  I  saw  all  the  folks  in  your  kitchen  going 
out,  and  the  light  up-stairs,  and  says  I, '  That 
lady  is  all  alone  by  herself,  and  I  can  git  some 
money  easy.'  So  I  come." 

"But  how  did  you  get  in?  The  windows 
are  barred  down-stairs— 

;'  Yes  'm;  they  look  like  good  winders;  but 

I  come  in  by  the  door — the  kitchen  door.     I 

reasoned  like  the  girls  would  have  some  place 

where  they  hid  the  kitchen  key,  and  I  could 

119 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

hunt  it  up.     Most  like  it  would  be  under  the 
door-mat.     That  ?s  where  it  was,  too." 

"  They  shall  have  a  latch-key,  every  one  of 
them;  of  course  you  got  in.  But  did  n't  you 
wake  the  dog?" 

"No,  ma'am;  he  jest  slept  like  the  dead. 
Them  big  dogs  is  jest  like  men  about  sleep 
ing,  they  sleep  so  sound." 

"  But  when  you  came  up  the  stairs  what 
did  you  do  about  the  mat  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs?  The  lights  ought  to  have  sprung  up 
and  the  bells  rung  the  instant  your  foot 
touched  the  mat!" 

"Why,  you  see,  lady,"  said  the  burglar, 
apologetically,— he  seemed  to  fear  lest  she 
should  be  hurt  by  the  failure  of  her  carefully 
planned  burglar-traps,— "you  see,  I  naturally 
struck  a  match  now  and  then  to  see  my  way, 
and  when  I  come  on  that  plain,  common  mat 
in  that  beautiful  hall  with  the  handsome  rugs 
about,  I  knowed  it  to  be  a  burglar-mat,  so  I 
jest  stepped  over  it.  I  Ve  no  doubt  all  the 
things  would  have  happened  if  I  had  stepped 
on  it  right." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Miss  Merry  weather, 
120 


THE  MERRY   THANKSGIVING 

gloomily;  "  maybe  the  plumbers  got  it  out  of 
order.     But  come  here;  open  that  chest!" 

She  pointed  to  the  nuns'  chest  against  the 
wall,  and  the  burglar  obediently  laid  his 
pistol  down  to  do  her  bidding.  An  inner 
chest  of  iron  was  disclosed,  having  two 
projecting  handles. 

"  Lift  the  cover,"  commanded  Miss  Merry- 
weather. 

A  smile  of  grim  expectation  parted  her 
firm  lips;  now  approached  her  triumph.  The 
burglar  laid  his  hands  on  the  knobs,  and 
pensively  nodded  his  head,  screwing  up  his 
mouth  like  a  man  recognizing  a  familiar 
flavor. 

"  Yes  'm,"  said  he;  "  galvanic  battery,  ain't 
it?  Kinder  prickly!" 

"I  '11  weaken  the  current,"  said  Miss 
Merryweather;  "you  must  be  a  perfect 
Spartan  not  to  call  out." 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  ruther  suspicioned  what 
it  was,"  the  burglar  replied,  letting  his  hands 
drop. 

"  How  can  you  get  your  hands  away  ?  "  cried 
Miss  Merryweather. 

121 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

"Hain't  you  weakened  the  current?"  de 
precated  the  burglar.  "Pshaw!  I  thought 
you  had,  or  I  would  n't  'a'  taken  them  down. 
I  'm  real  sorry." 

Miss  Merryweather  laughed.  "  Everything 
is  a  failure,"  said  she.  'You  ought  to  be 
held  a  prisoner,  with  your  shoulders  hunched 
up.  It 's  all  wrong." 

"  Oh,  no,  it  ain't,  ma'am,"  the  burglar  tried 
to  reassure  her.  "  I  ain't  no  manner  of  doubt 
that  them  mats  down-stairs  would  work  splen 
did  ;  we  kin  try  going  down.  But  these  here 
galvanic  batteries  are  mighty  unreliable. 
Never  mind,  I  kin  fix  it  all  right  for  you. 
I  'm  glad  I  came,  though." 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Miss  Merryweather.  "  Do 
you  think  something  is  the  matter  with  this 
too?"  —displaying  her  revolver. 

It  was  a  big  revolver  of  glossy  and  irides 
cent  black,  not  a  feminine  frippery  about  it 
—no  pearl,  no  silver;  a  revolver  that  meant 
business  and  showed  its  intentions  honorably. 

"  No,  it 's  all  right,"  said  the  burglar,  ad 
miringly;  "you  could  'a'  plugged  me  sure." 

"  Unless  you  shot  me  first." 
122 


THE  MERRY  THANKSGIVING 

"Humph!  that  would  'a'  been  difficult, 
seein'  mine  ain't  loaded  and  there  's  some 
thing  the  matter  with  the  trigger  so  it  can't 
go  off,  else  it  would  'a'  been  in  the  pawnshop 
'stead  of  here." 

"  Well/'  sighed  Miss  Merryweather,  "  it 's 
a  mercy  you  tried  to  burgle  me  with  that 
useless  thing,  instead  of  some  one  else. 
Now,  for  goodness  sake  come  down-stairs 
and  let  me  give  you  that  basket  and  get  you 
off  before  the  servants  come." 

Miss  Merryweather  had  very  much  the 
sensations  of  a  burglar  in  her  own  house,  as 
she  despoiled  the  larder,  the  friendly  burglar 
holding  the  candle.  They  hurried  at  every 
glimpse  of  the  clock,  they  trembled  at  all  the 
creakings  of  the  floor. 

"  Bobbins  never  did  stay  out  before  later 
than  twelve  or  one;  it  's  a  quar—  Great 
heavens!"  Miss  Merryweather  jumped. 
Suddenly  she  was  bathed  in  a  flood  of  light, 
and  bells  seemed  to  be  ringing  all  over  the 
house! 

"  I  guess  the  mats  is  straight  goods,"  said 
the  burglar;  "you  trod  on  it  by  mistake, 
123 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

ma'am.  Say,  what 's  that?  They  're  a-hol- 
lering  in  the  yard!  I  '11  try  this  door— 

"No,  you  will  not,"  said  Miss  Merry- 
weather,  all  herself  again;  "you  will  stay 
just  where  you  are  while  I  open  the  door." 

She  was  at  the  hall  door  before  she  ended, 
calling  loudly  to  the  shrieking  maids,  who 
came  in  timidly  (except  Robbins),  in  the  rear 
of  the  two  men,  who  were  none  too  valorous. 

"  Nothing  is  the  matter,"  said  Miss  Merry- 
weather;  "I  stepped  on  the  mat  myself.  It 
works  perfectly.  Harriet,  I  've  engaged  a 
plumber,  and  he  is  to  work  all  night,  and  the 
plumbing  will  be  done  by  to-morrow  after 
noon.  If  you  need  those  extra  tools,  you 
better  go  home  and  get  them  now," — turning 
upon  the  bewildered  burglar,— "and  you 
don't  need  that  candle  any  more;  put  it  down. 
Don't  forget  the  basket." 

"No,  ma'am,  thank  you,  ma'am,"  the 
burglar  responded  meekly,  "and  I  '11  be 
back-" 

"  As  soon  as  you  can;  there  's  no  time  to 
lose,"  said  Miss  Merryweather.  "  He  is  a  good 
plumber,"  she  announced  calmly  to  her  dazed 
124 


THE  MERRY   THANKSGIVING 

domestic  staff,  "  and  I  was  lucky  to  get  him. 
I  have  sent  a  basket  of  things  to  his  family. 
Get  him  a  good  breakfast  to-morrow  morn 
ing,  and  I  hope  we  shall  have  a  Thanksgiving 
after  all.  I  shaVt  forget  how  good  you  all 
are  in  these  emergencies." 

The  household  knew  too  well  Miss  Merry- 
weather's  generosity,  for  these  special  efforts, 
to  be  unhappy;  but  Robbins  summed  up  the 
general  mixture  of  disapprobation  and  ad 
miration.  She  said:  "Did  you  ever  see  the 
like !  I  believe  Miss  Elinor  would  git  her  will 
if  she  had  to  tear  the  world  up  by  the  roots! " 

The  plumbing  was  done,  and  well  done,  by 
four  of  the  next  afternoon.  The  burglar's 
family,  as  well  as  the  Merryweather  gather 
ing,  dined  late  that  Thanksgiving. 

I  cannot  find  any  good  moral  in  this  tale, 
unless  it  be  contained  in  Miss  Merryweather's 
own  subsequent  reflections.  "Now,  are  n't 
the  ways  of  Providence  queer?  Here  's  my 
burglar  got  a  good  plumber  shop  and  lots  of 
custom,  simply  by  an  unsuccessful  attempt 
to  rob.  But  then  it  is  a  merciful  thing 
that,  as  our  best  intentions  are  liable  to 
125 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

bring  harm  and  misfortune,  so  our  bad  ones 
run  off  the  track  sometimes,  too.  And,  any 
how,  it  was  n't  because  he  was  a  burglar  he 
was  so  lucky,  but  because  he  was  such  a  re 
markably  gentle  and  propitiating  burglar! 
If  he  had  n't  been  I  should  have  had  to 
shoot  him  or  '  sic '  Diogenes  on  him.  I  hope 
it  will  be  a  lesson  to  us  both  that  it  is  better 
far  to  rule  by  love  than  fear,  and  kind  words 
can  never  die,  and  all  that  kind  of  thing! 
And  it  was  certainly  a  mercy  to  me  that  I 
feel  truly  thankful  for.  I  don't  know  how  I 
could  have  beaten  the  plumbers  without 
him!" 


126 


THE   ROMANCE   OF   DULLTOWN 

BY 

JAMES  W.  TEMPLE 


THE  ROMANCE  OF   DULLTOWN 


DULLTOWN,  as  any  tyro  in  geography 
can  tell,  is  a  village  of  a  few  hundred 
inhabitants,  situated  on  the  line  of  the 
X.  X.  L.  Railroad,  in  the  County  of  Blank, 
and  State  of  Incognito.  To  describe  it  as  a 
real-estate  agent  would  do,  it  is  the  center 
of  a  fine  agricultural  region,  and  a  trading- 
point  of  no  mean  order,  judged  by  the 
staples  shipped  from  its  depot  and  the  mer 
chandise  sold  by  its  several  "  stores  "  to  the 
country  people  located  near  it.  It  has 
the  regulation  supply  of  shops,  offices,  and 
warehouses;  its  churches,  its  schools,  its 
fine  residences  and  humble  cottages.  It 
numbers  among  its  population  its  rich 
129 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

man,  its  well-to-do  tradesmen,  its  day- 
laborers,  its  loafers.  It  has  its  preachers, 
its  doctors,  its  teachers;  it  has  its  local 
politicians,  its  office-seekers,  its  cranks,  its 
weather-prophets,  its  orators  for  Fourth  of 
July  demands  and  other  great  occasions.  It 
has  its  little  local  squabbles,  its  professional 
jealousies,  its  commercial  rivalries.  It  has 
its  milliners,  its  dressmakers,  its  fashionable 
coteries  and  their  humble  imitators.  It  has 
its  elections,  on  which  days  society  is  stirred 
to  its  profoundest  depths  by  the  struggles 
of  Smith,  Brown,  and  Jones  to  become  con 
stable,  justice,  assessor,  or  collector.  It  also 
takes  a  live  part  in  greater  affairs,  and  sends 
its  three  or  four  delegates  to  county  conven 
tions  with  commendable  punctuality. 

If,  all  these  pointers  having  been  given, 
the  intelligent  reader  cannot  locate  the  vil 
lage  or  town  in  the  writer's  mind,  he  must  be 
dull  indeed.  He  can  have  no  more  data  frrm 
me.  It  is  quite  possible,  however,  that  differ 
ent  persons  will  locate  it  differently  as  I  go 
on  with  an  analysis  of  some  of  the  peculiari 
ties  of  its  prominent  citizens. 
130 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  DULLTOWN 

First,  that  we  may  show  a  proper  respect 
for  wealth,  let  us  commence  with  the  rich 
man  of  the  town. 

This  important  personage,  who  has  now 
retired  from  active  commercial  pursuits,  and 
is  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  dignified  old  age, 
came  to  the  County  of  Blank  in  its  early 
settlement.  Having  a  little  money  and  much 
shrewdness,  he  decided  that  breaking  prairie 
and  raising  stock  was  a  slow  way  to  wealth ; 
so  he  established  a  country  store,  where  he 
could  enjoy  a  monopoly  of  the  trade,  and 
whatever  percentage  he  chose  to  ask  on  his 
sales,  which  simplified  merchandizing  very 
much  in  those  early  days-  He  also  invested 
some  spare  money  in  buying  tax  titles,  hav 
ing  the  good  luck  thereby  to  become  the 
owner  of  several  pieces  of  land  forfeited 
by  their  former  owners,  under  pressure 
of  the  times,  to  the  inevitable  tax  laws. 
He  also  gave  credit,  and  even  made  small 
loans  at  big  interest  to  several  farmers 
who  owned  exceptionally  good  farms  in  his 
vicinity,  but  were  poor  calculators,  and 
when  the  times  of  settlement  came  and  the 
131 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

debtors  failed  to  pay,  further  obliged  them 
by  extending  the  time,  on  their  executing 
certain  mortgages  to  secure  the  same,  which 
mortgages  generally  swallowed  farms  and 
improvements  when  the  times  got  bad,  as 
they  usually  did  in  those  days.  These 
farms,  thus  falling  into  his  hands,  he  either 
sold  again,  partly  on  time,  with  mortgage  to 
secure  the  balance,  or  rented  to  tenants, 
taking,  to  secure  the  rent,  chattel  mortgages 
on  the  crops  and  teams  of  his  renters,  so  that, 
let  crops  succeed  or  fail,  he  was  safe,  and  in 
fact  a  failure  of  buyer  or  tenant  was  better 
to  him  than  their  success.  So  in  a  few  years 
he  quit  merchandizing,  and  set  up  as  banker, 
—loaned  money,  shaved  notes,  bought  and 
sold  farms, — and  is  now  retired  from  active 
business,  unless  collecting  rents  and  cutting 
coupons  be  called  such,  and  is  reaping  the 
rewards  of  a  well-spent  life  in  the  deference 
and  dependence  of  hosts  of  his  old  neighbors, 
though  some  are  ill-natured  enough  to  asso 
ciate  his  name  with  that  of  one  Shylock  of 
Shaksperian  memory;  but  there  are  envious 
132 


THE  ROMANCE   OF  DULLTOWN 

men  everywhere,  as  also  there  are  men  who 
will  call  a  spade  a  spade. 

It  would  give  me  great  pleasure  to  go  on 
describing  other  residents  of  Dulltown  if  I 
did  not  fear  to  bore  the  reader.  I  should 
like  to  describe  its  one  lawyer,  whose  prin 
cipal  forte  it  was  to  stir  up  litigation  in  the 
neighborhood.  I  should  like  to  sketch  the 
two  justices  of  the  peace,  dignified  as  owls, 
and  as  ignorant  of  law,  but  with  fairly  good 
judgment  to  get  at  the  equity  of  cases,  un 
less  befogged  by  the  lawyers.  I  should  like 
to  describe  the  preachers,  who,  filling  their 
several  appointments,  came  every  two  years 
full  of  energy  and  purpose  to  do  much  good, 
but  who  found  themselves  confronted  at  the 
start  by  quarrelsome  cliques  within  their  own 
churches,  and  petty  jealousies,  bickerings, 
and  scandals  without,  which  neutralized 
their  best  efforts  at  reform,  while  social 
life  had  its  castes,  its  "sets,"  and  its 
ostracisms,  which  no  merit  in  the  individual 
nor  interest  in  the  cause  could  combat.  I 
could  describe  also  that  ubiquitous  person- 
133 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

age,  the  "  fast "  young  man,  who  punctually 
put  in  an  appearance  every  evening  at  the 
corner  restaurant,  or  ogled  young  ladies  on 
their  way  to  church,  who,  in  spite  of  the 
care  of  the  authorities,  found  means  to  keep 
his  flask  filled — and  emptied — every  day,  and 
became  eloquent  and  melodious  frequently, 
as  well  as  erratic  in  his  locomotion  on  Satur 
day  evenings;  also  that  class  of  hangers-on 
of  the  village  who  seemed  to  have  no  visible 
means  of  support— those  unsolved  conun 
drums  of  every  community,  who  "toil  not, 
neither  do  they  spin,"  but  yet  contrive  to 
keep  fat  and  sleek. 

I  could  describe  another  class— most  ac 
tive  in  the  village  life  of  Dulltown — that 
class  of  self-constituted  censors  of  public 
morals,  whose  duty  and  pleasure  it  seems  to 
be  to  watch  over  the  affairs  of  other  people, 
much  gratified  to  find  a  screw  loose  or  a  flaw 
somewhere  in  the  running-gears  of  the  social 
machine.  Indeed,  so  zealous  do  they  become 
that  they  grow  prophetic,  predicting  evils 
they  can't  see,  and,  like  the  shrewd  dentist 
in  his  work,  if  they  find  no  cavities  try  to 
134 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  DULL  TOWN 

make  them.  They  have  capital  noses  for 
faults;  they  assign  discreditable  causes  for 
actions,  good  or  bad;  if  frailty  claim  a  victim 
they  "suspicioned  it  long  ago";  if  misfor 
tune  overtake  a  neighbor  they  had  looked 
for  it  from  his  foolish  management.  To  be 
first  to  unearth  a  slander,  and  to  variegate 
it  with  fanciful  decorations,  is,  as  Scott  says, 
the  "  very  skimming  of  their  life's  cream." 

But  all  these  pointers  will  help  the  reader 
little  to  locate  Dulltown.  There  are  several 
villages  we  know  of  possessed  of  like  citizens, 
and  the  reader  will  feel  like  calling  the  writer 
to  time,  and  bidding  him  quit  generalities  and 
"  drive  on  with  his  wagon." 

Well,  Dulltown  had  its  romance.  Start 
not,  incredulous  reader!  It  is  not  alone  the 
unexpected,  but  the  improbable,  that  hap 
pens.  Was  it  "  probable  "  that  a  tanner  of 
Galena  or  a  sheriff  of  Buffalo,  a  rail-splitter 
of  Illinois  or  a  canal-boat  boy  of  Ohio,  would 
fill  the  world's  highest  places?  Was  any 
"good"  expected  to  "come  out  of  Naza 
reth  "?  So  a  romance  is  possible  anywhere, 
even  in  Dulltown.  For  the  ingredients  of 
135 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

romance  are  everywhere  if  properly  mixed. 
What  are  they?  Youth,  love,  ambition,  hope, 
success.  Given  a  poor  but  gallant  youth 
for  a  lover;  a  lovely,  romantic  maiden  with 
regulation  blue  or  hazel  or  dark  eyes;  a  hard, 
worldly  father;  opportunity  in  the  shape  of 
"village  sociables,"  or  other  leveling  and 
democratic  assemblages,  where  "  the  rich 
and  the  poor  meet  together,"  and  "  the  Lord 
is  the  maker  of  them  all,"  as  the  Bible  says, 
to  illustrate  the  leveling  function  of  such 
meetings,  and  you  have  material  for  a  ro 
mance,  even  in  the  Dulltowns  of  the  world. 
So  we  will  prepare  to  mix  our  ingredients. 
Perhaps  the  incantation  of  Macbeth's  witches 
would  be  a  good  introduction:  "Double, 
double,  toil  and  trouble."  But  it  needs  no 
mystic  rhyme.  "Trouble"  will  "double" 
fast  enough  of  its  own  motion  in  such  cases 
as  this.  But  we  will  artfully  adjourn  our 
story  here  to  the  next  chapter. 

ii 

THE  widow  Brown  moved  into  Dulltown 
one  cold  day  in  November  of  I  forget  what 
136 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  DULLTOWN 

year.  But  no  matter.  "Time  is  not  the 
essence  of  my  contract."  It  is  more  essen 
tial  to  say  that  the  widow  Brown  was,  as  a 
neighbor  said,  "  poor  as  p'ison."  (This  neigh 
bor  was  of  the  class  before  mentioned,  who 
deemed  it  their  special  duty  to  know  just 
how  poor  their  new  neighbor  was.)  But 
poor  she  was,  there  's  no  denying,  else  she 
had  not  taken  such  a  poor  house  on  a  back 
street  of  Dulltown,  and  immediately  given 
out  that  she  wanted  work  to  keep  her  fam 
ily,  consisting  of  herself  and  three  children. 
She  proved  to  be  a  good  needlewoman,  and 
soon  obtained  work  enough  to  keep  the  wolf 
from  the  door,  which  is  easier  to  do  in  the 
West,  even  where  wolves  are  plenty,  than  in 
big  Eastern  cities,  they  say. 

Then  she  sent  her  two  biggest  children 
to  school.  John,  her  oldest  hopeful,  was 
a  sturdy,  rollicking,  ragged  "chunk  of  a 
boy"  of  twelve,  ragged  but  clean  and  well 
groomed,  and  somehow  his  rags  did  n't  "  sit 
heavy  on  his  soul,"  to  the  inculcating  of  un 
due  humility,  for  before  the  first  school-day 
was  over  he  had  "licked"  the  son  of  the 
137 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

principal  merchant  in  the  place  for  making 
some  "  profane  and  facetious  remarks,"  as 
Nasby  would  say,  on  the  cut  and  quality  of 
his  (Johnny  Brown's)  trousers  and  jacket. 
The  fact  that  the  merchant's  boy  was  a  year 
his  senior,  and  the  bully  of  the  school,  at 
once  made  young  Johnny  "  loved,  feared,  and 
respected  "  by  his  mates— a  condition  some 
philosopher  pronounces  the  most  desirable 
one  possible  in  this  vale  of  tears.  At  all 
events,  Johnny's  ragged  jacket  did  n't  ostra 
cize  him  in  the  school,  and  on  the  playground 
a  certain  indefinable  quality  of  leadership 
asserted  itself,  but  in  so  pleasant  and  jolly  a 
way  that  very  few  felt  called  upon  to  make 
head  against  it. 

Then  Johnny  Brown  had  a  peculiar  and 
original  way  of  mastering  his  school-books 
that  was  rather  remarkable  in  Dulltown. 
For  it  had  been  customary  there,  as  else 
where,  for  pupils  to  depend  on  their  teachers 
to  "(punch  'em  up,"  as  the  directors  expressed 
it,  and  they  had  got  so  used  to  the  punching- 
up  process,  and  had  considered  it  so  good- 
natured  on  their  part  toward  their  teachers 
138 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  DULL  TOWN 

to  learn  at  all,  even  with  all  the  encourage 
ment  those  unfortunates  could  give  them, 
that  they  looked  on  Johnny's  voluntary  learn 
ing  of  a  lesson  as  little  less  than  "  flat  bur 
glary,"  and  some  of  the  boldest  took  occasion 
to  remonstrate  with  him  for  truckling  so 
much  to  "  old  Whackem,"  the  master.  But 
Johnny  had  his  own  notions  on  this  as  on 
most  matters.  Besides,  he  had  a  little  mo 
ther  at  home  whom  he  cared  more  to  please 
than  all  the  people  of  Dulltown  combined, 
and  this  unreasonable  little  body  had,  despite 
her  poverty,  presumed  to  entertain  hopes 
and  ambitions  for  her  curly-headed  boy  that 
would  have  shocked  the  placid  brains  of  her 
neighbors  almost  into  mental  activity  had 
they  known  of  them.  And  at  the  base  of 
her  plans  in  the  boy's  behalf  lay  a  thorough 
education.  She  knew  that  this,  of  all  earthly 
attainments,  is  the  greatest  leveler  of  human 
distinctions,  the  greatest  help  for  poverty  to 
rise  to  rank  and  affluence,  and  she,  a  poor 
needlewoman,  and  on  occasion  a  wash 
woman,  had  the  audacity  to  hope  (within 
her  own  bosom)  for  such  a  career  for  her 
139 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

Johnny  as  would  have  surprised,  and,  indeed, 
ill  pleased,  some  of  her  patrons,  to  whom  he 
brought  home  budgets  of  work  done  by  his 
hard-working  mother. 

But  we  will  skip  five  years  in  our  narra 
tive,  only  stopping  to  observe  that  our  hero, 
Johnny  Brown,  had  in  that  growing  period 
shot  up  from  a  sturdy,  curly-headed  urchin 
of  twelve  to  a  rather  tall,  awkward  young 
ster  of  seventeen,  as  self-reliant  but  much 
more  bashful  than  on  the  day  he  entered 
school  at  Dulltown.  It  was  his  good  luck 
that  the  school  wras  presided  over  during 
those  years  by  a  really  capable  teacher,  who 
accepted  John's  unusual  capacity  as  a  re 
lief  from  the  pond  of  mediocrity  in  which  he 
was  condemned  to  paddle,  and  had  extended 
the  range  of  his  studies  much  beyond  the 
usual  limits  of  a  district  school.  To  com 
pensate  for  this  out-of-hours  instruction 
Johnny  had  hoed  out  the  "  professor's  "  gar 
den,  chopped  wood  for  him  winters,  and 
generally  paid  back  in  such  currency  as  he 
had  in  hand  for  the  loan  of  books,  mostly 
140 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  DULLTOWN 

mathematical,  and  of  practical  value  to  a 
young  man  who  had  it  in  view  to  "  make  his 
brains  help  his  hands."  For  John  was  what 
is  called  a  "  handy  lad  "  with  tools,  and  what 
he  lost  in  the  opinion  of  the  Dulltown  folk 
on  the  score  of  being  a  crank  about  "  book- 
rarnin',"  he  partly  redeemed  by  his  skill  in 
making  a  bob-sled,  or  repairing  his  mother's 
fences  and  sheds.  And  now,  on  the  last  day 
of  school,  if  we  will  listen  to  a  little  talk  as 
he  is  packing  up  his  books  to  leave  the  old 
school-house  forever,  we  may  gather  some 
thing  of  the  true  "  inwardness  "  of  the  boy 
and  future  man  from  his  conversation  with 
a  schoolmate  nearly  as  old  as  himself,  but 
certainly  a  thousand  times  prettier.  She  is 
the  youngest  daughter  of  the  aforesaid  rich 
man  of  the  village,  and  we  will  call  her  Mary 
Van  Gould,  which  is  not  a  bit  like  her  real 
name,  but  hath  a  moneyed  sound  to  it,  and 
will  pass  as  well  as  another. 

"Well,  John,"  she  is  saying,  "I  suppose 
to-day  ends  your  school-days  among  us"— 
this  with  a  half-suppressed  sigh  and  a  rather 
141 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

suspicious  downcasting  of  a  pair  of  telltale 
eyes,  which  the  owner  is  determined  shall 
tell  nothing. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Van  Gould,"  John  replies,  "  I 
guess  I  '11  have  to  quit  studying  and  go  to 
work.  I  should  have  done  so  a  year  ago,  but 
mother  wanted  me  to  finish  up  surveying  and 
trigonometry,  and  I  was  weak  enough  besides 
to  hate  to  leave  the  school  for  more  reasons 
than  one,"  he  sheepishly  added.  If  he  had 
been  a  little  bolder-eyed  he  might  have  seen  a 
little  flush  and  pleased  smile  on  Mary's  face 
as  she  suddenly  turned  away  to  pick  up  a 
book  she  did  n't  want  a  bit.  But  just  then 
he,  too,  was  blushing,  and  as  anxious  to  hide 
his  confusion  as  the  lady,  so  no  harm  came 
of  it. 

But,  as  usual,  the  lady  recovered  herself 
first.  "And  what  's  your  program  next, 
John?"  she  asked,  with  an  attempted  in 
difference  in  her  tone  that  was  n't  a  very 
brilliant  success,  for  a  suspicious  moisture 
in  her  eyes  made  her  turn  round  again  to 
hunt  for  another  book.  (Oh,  fie !  what  would 
Mrs.  Grundy  of  Dulltown,  or  what  would  the 
142 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  DULLTOWN 

stately  father,  the  gold-spectacled,  digni 
fied  ex-banker  and  present  millionaire  have 
thought  to  have  seen  that  tear?) 

But  nobody  saw  it,  and,  as  I  said  before, 
no  harm  was  done.  And  John  went  on 
blunderingly  to  tell  that  he  hoped  to  obtain 
employment  in  a  machine-shop  in  a  neigh 
boring  city.  He  had  thought  of  going  to 
college,  but  lack  of  means,  and  a  desire  to 
help  the  folks  at  home  a  little,  had  deter 
mined  him  to  seek  paying  work  with  such  a 
chance  of  promotion  as  he  might  deserve. 
"  I  have  taxed  my  mother's  slender  purse  too 
long,"  he  said,  though  everybody  knew  he 
had  helped  her  every  way  he  could,  and  only 
continued  in  school  so  long  at  her  urgent 
prayer;  "  and  now,"  said  he,  "  I  feel  like  try 
ing  my  fate  and  seeing  whether  there  's  any 
thing  in  me  that  pluck  and  push  will  work 
out." 

"Oh,  John,  I  'm  sure  there  is!"  the  girl 
answered  eagerly,  and  then  blushed  at  her 
own  forward  defense.  "And,"  she  con 
tinued,  "you  may  be  sure  that— that  you 
have  friends  here  who  will  pray— who  will 
143 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

heartily  wish  you  all  success,  and  believe  in 
you  to  the  end." 

Now  if  John  had  been  a  little  more  for 
ward,  and  pressed  things  skilfully,  he  might, 
in  that  girl's  impressible  mood,  have  got 
something  more  explicit;  but  nothing  was 
farther  from  his  hopes  and  wishes.  He  was 
a  poor  boy,  with  his  place  in  the  world  to 
make.  He  had  nothing  to  offer.  The  pretty 
girl  before  him,  generous  and  kindly  as  she 
was,  was  as  far  separated  from  him  as  the 
antipodes.  He  had  helped  her  in  her  lessons, 
school-boy  fashion.  He  had  on  one  occasion 
stood  between  her  and  considerable  danger, 
when  a  herd  of  Texas  steers  were  charging 
through  the  street  where  she  was  walking 
to  school — a  thing  he  thought  little  of,  as, 
stick  in  hand,  he  got  between  her  and  a 
vicious  steer  that  developed  hostile  inten 
tions  toward  her  red  shawl.  But  when  a 
sound  lick  on  the  horns  with  a  good  shillalah 
had  changed  the  brute's  mind  and  sent  him 
after  the  rest  of  the  herd,  Mary,  pale  as 
death,  looked  on  the  handsome  youngster  as 
a  real  hero.  Well,  perhaps  he  was,  as  heroes 
144 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  DULLTOWN 

go,  but  heroes  of  romance  are  not  generally 
painted  in  shirt-sleeves,  with  a  torn  straw 
hat  on  their  heads,  and  in  patched  trousers. 
No,  she  must  have  been  mistaken.  Yet  the 
silly  girl  could  n't  get  it  out  of  her  mind  (and 
heart)  that  he  was  a  hero,  and  school-girls 
take  to  heroes  as  ducks  to  water,  as  all  the 
world  knows. 

Well,  John  and  Mary  parted  there  with  a 
hand-shake  and  a  good-by,  as  hundreds  of 
Johns  and  Marys  have  and  will,  and  Mary 
went  home  to  her  father's  elegant  mansion 
to  dream  of  heroes  and  stout  boys  with  sticks 
in  their  hands  standing  between  her  and 
danger,  and  then  of  tall,  bashful  youths 
with  unmistakable  sprouting  mustachios  and 
handsome  eyes,  albeit  they  but  furtively 
glance  from  under  a  rather  fluffy  hat.  And 
John  went  out  into  the  big  world  with  a 
brave  heart,  to  try  and  prove  himself  a  man. 


in 


TIME  flies.     Gentle  reader,  this  is  not  an 
original  remark.     In  fact,  its  authorship  is 
145 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

lost  in  the  mists  of  antiquity,  though  there 
has  not  been  an  age  in  which  the  essential 
fact  it  records  has  not  been  repeated  in 
varied  shape,  all  either  reasserting  or  moral 
izing  upon  the  fugacious  character  of  time. 

So  we  will  suppose  the  old  high-flier  to 
have  made  the  circuit  of  three  years.  Dull- 
town  has  held  the  even  tenor  of  its  way 
while  the  seasons  and  the  almanac  have 
marked  every  citizen  of  that  placid  village 
three  years  older.  No,  not  all.  There  are 
certain  persons  whose  age  does  not  always 
tally  with  the  almanac  or  the  family  record, 
that  is,  the  age  they  give  to  a  curious  public. 
These  individuals,  unmarried  ladies  gener 
ally,  sometimes  fail  to  note  the  earth's  revo 
lutions  round  the  sun;  but  the  "  whirligig  of 
time  brings  in  his  revenges,"  and  he  has  a 
subtle  engraver  who  fails  not  to  mark  his 
work  on  cheek  and  brow. 

But  to  our  heroine,  Mary  Van  Gould,  time 
was  nothing  but  kind.  Since  she  had  been 
a  school-girl  he  had  much  improved  her 
form,  filled  her  cheeks,  and  painted  them 
the  most  approved  color;  had  given  her  eyes 
146 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  DULLTOWN 

more  beauty  and  expression,  though  of  a 
more  sad  and  thoughtful  kind;  and  her  mind 
had  overcome  the  depressing  influence  of 
Dulltown  society.  She  was  the  companion 
and  joy  of  her  father,  who  lacked  companion 
ship  sadly  since  his  wife  had  sickened  and 
died— a  prey  to  the  universal  stagnation, 
some  said.  It  is  a  sad  sight  when  man  and 
wife  are  not  society  for  each  other.  This 
pair  had  never  been.  He  had  married  her 
for  her  wealth,  but  he  got  no  companionship, 
for,  though  a  good  woman,  her  mind  was  weak 
and  uncultivated.  His  library  was  nothing 
to  her,  nor  his  conversation,  being  often  be 
yond  her  range.  God  help  the  man  and  wife 
who  have  no  common  interests  to  bind  them 
together,  yet  are  doomed  to  pass  their  lives 
thrown  upon  themselves  for  society! 

But  Mary  took  the  place  his  wife  was  un 
fitted  for,  and  became  his  pride,  his  joy,  his 
all,  as  she  grew  older.  Need  it  be  said  he 
grew  anxious  about  her  marrying  and  leav 
ing  him  alone  some  day?  And  yet  he  was 
comforted  by  noting  that,  while  she  was 
pleasant  and  kind  to  all,  no  "  bright,  particu- 
147 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

lar  star  "  seemed  to  rise  over  her  horizon;  no 
one  more  than  another  of  the  youth  of  Dull- 
town  received  favor  at  her  hands.  And  the 
old  millionaire  wondered  at  this  not  a  little. 
She  was  young,  healthy,  fair,  and  his 
destined  heiress.  And  yet  she  was  enter 
ing  her  nineteenth  year  with  a  heart  as 
indifferent  as  when  a  school-girl  to  those 
attractions  which  mean  so  much  to  young 
girls  generally. 

But  one  day  his  eyes  were  opened,  for  he 
had  sharp  eyes  where  his  interests  were 
touched.  For  one  day  Johnny  Brown  came 
home  from  New  York  to  visit  his  mother  and 
the  scenes  of  his  youth.  He  had  gone  away 
a  stalwart  lad;  he  came  back  a  handsome, 
manly  youth  of  past  twenty,  with  the  marks 
of  toil  and  success  plainly  to  be  read  on  his 
person  and  in  his  air.  Those  hands  had  been 
intimate  with  hammer  and  wrench,  bar  and 
lever.  His  eyes  had  the  mechanical  cast  soon 
acquired  by  the  worker  in  metals,  his  arms 
the  muscle  of  the  athlete.  He  was  a  fine 
specimen  of  an  intelligent  American  machi 
nist,  and  no  mother  could  have  taken  back  to 
148 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  DULLTOWN 

her  arms  a  manlier  or  a  more  welcome  wan 
derer  from  the  home  of  his  youth. 

Well,  John  stayed  at  home  a  few  weeks 
visiting  his  friends,  and  welcomed  by  all, 
both  as  a  relief  from  the  monotony  of  Dull- 
town,  and  from  the  really  friendly  feeling 
with  which  every  community  welcomes  back 
those  who  go  out  into  the  world  and  play  a 
manly  part  therein.  And  there  was  no  more 
appreciative  or  closely  observant  acquain 
tance  than  the  ex-banker,  Mr.  Van  Gould. 
His  judgment  of  men  was  shrewd  and  unerr 
ing.  He  took  pains  to  engage  John  in  con 
versation,  to  question  him  on  matters  of 
business,  of  observation,  of  principle,  of 
opinion.  In  fact,  in  his  quiet  way  he  had 
thoroughly  "  sized  up  "  our  hero  before  the 
latter  mistrusted  that  it  was  he  instead  of 
his  news  Mr.  Van  Gould  was  weighing.  And 
after  John  had  gone  back  to  his  duties  in 
New  York  to  take  up  again  his  life's  work, 
nobody  in  Dulltown  ever  suspected  that  the 
shrewd  old  man  had  inventoried  him  and  laid 
him  away  labeled  for  future  reference. 

But  of  this  hereafter.  John  and  Mary 
149 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

met,  of  course,  during  those  precious  few 
weeks,  and  as  it  is  not  in  our  plan  to  give  de 
tails  of  love-making,  which  you  can  get  from 
any  well-constructed  modern  novel,  I  will 
only  say  that  before  they  parted  they  were 
sworn  lovers,  and  this  despite  the  fact  that 
there  was  a  million  or  so  dollars  between 
them. 

But  they  mutually  agreed  that  it  would  be 
better  not  to  let  their  engagement  be  known. 
They  dreaded  the  opposition  of  her  father; 
they  knew  the  barrier  fate  had  placed  be 
tween  them,  and  knew,  also,  that  many  years 
must  elapse  before  young  Brown  could  hope, 
with  the  best  luck,  to  win  means  enough  to 
demand  the  millionaire's  daughter  with  any 
prospect  of  success. 

So  it  was  a  sad  parting,  but  courageous  on 
both  sides.  Yet  "  hope  deferred  maketh  the 
heart  sick."  It  was  not  many  months  before 
the  keen  eyes  of  the  father  noted  a  care-worn 
look  on  his  daughter's  pretty  face,  and  the 
fact  that  this  look  became  more  marked 
after  the  advent  of  the  mails.  He  took  the 
precaution  to  step  to  the  post-office  himself 
150 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  DULLTOWN 

for  the  family  mail,  which  his  daughter  had 
generally  brought,  and  he  noticed  that  when 
letters  bearing  a  New  York  postmark  were 
received  by  her,  they  were  succeeded  by  a 
nervous  depression  she  took  much  pains  to 
hide. 

So  he  proceeds  to  take  his  measures  with 
a  diabolical  cunning  worthy  of  a  Malvolio. 
He  first  makes  an  errand  to  the  widow 
Brown's  cottage.  He  contracts  for  the 
making  of  some  articles  of  clothing,  and  as 
he  is  about  leaving,  asks:  "Ah,  by  the 
way,  do  you  hear  anything  from  your  son 
John  lately,  madam?"  He  is  surprised  to 
see  the  widow  burst  into  tears,  and  to  hear 
her  tell  that  a  fire  in  his  employer's  factory 
had  destroyed  the  plant,  and  all  his  own  in 
vestment  as  a  part-owner  of  the  stock 
therein,  leaving  John  broken  up  as  well  as 
thrown  out  of  employment.  And  the  good 
lady  was  surprised  to  see  a  hard  smile  pass 
over  the  millionaire's  stern  face,  a  smile  of 
gratified  malice,  she  was  sure,  and  she  could 
be  sworn  she  heard  a  laugh  as  he  stumbled 
down-stairs,  and  a  remark  that  "it  served 
151 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

them  right,  trying  to  deceive  her  old  gray- 
haired  father!" 

And  here  "The  Romance  of  Dulltown" 
properly  commences,  and  we  will  warrant  it 
to  be  the  "  first  and  only "  romance  of  the 
kind  ever  recorded,  so  far  as  our  researches 
in  the  much-trodden  fields  of  fiction  reveal. 
For  what  does  that  inhuman  parent  do? 
He  seizes  her  next  letter,  breaks  the  seal, 
reads  the  direction,  and,  I  shame  to  say  it, 
the  contents,  which  were  as  follows: 

"  NEW  YORK,  July  4,  18—. 

"DEAREST  MARY:  Since  I  wrote  you  last 
week  my  affairs  have  taken  a  still  more  de 
cided  turn  for  the  worse.  I  had  hope  at 
that  date,  as  I  told  you,  that  my  partners 
might  save  enough  out  of  the  wreck  to  en 
able  us  to  rebuild  and  go  on  with  our  work; 
but  since  then,  by  the  defection  of  one  and 
the  indebtedness  of  another,  our  enterprise 
is  dead  beyond  hope. 

"  Dear  Mary,  I  write  this  in  more  pain  than 
you  can  imagine.  It  is  not  the  loss  itself 
that  crushes  me,  but  the  utter  hopelessness 
152 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  DULLTOWN 

of  starting  again  with  a  reasonable  chance 
of  succeeding  in  a  good  many  years.  I  will 
not  deceive  you.  I  am  ruined  financially, 
beyond  hope  of  recovery  until  after  long 
years  of  toil,  and  perhaps  disappointment  in 
the  end.  I  cannot  as  an  honorable  man  ask 
you  to  wait  for  me.  When  I  had  a  bright 
prospect  ahead  of  me,  with  the  promise  you 
gave  me  to  cheer  and  uphold  me,  no  man 
ever  worked  harder  or  more  hopefully.  Now 
I  see  no  prospect  of  succeeding,  and,  dear 
as  you  are  to  me,  bound  up  in  every  hope, 
ambition,  or  dream  of  happiness  I  have  had 
on  earth  for  years,  I  cannot  hold  you  to  a 
promise  to  which  your  heart,  more  than  your 
best  judgment,  prompted  you.  Dear  Mary, 
I  give  that  promise  back.  It  would  be 
wronging  you,  wronging  your  father,  nay,  it 
would  be  wronging  myself,  to  hold  you  on 
for  years,  hoping  against  hope,  till  the  best 
part  of  your  life  had  been  lost  to  you,  and 
the  roses  had  faded  from  your  cheeks  and 
the  joy  from  your  life. 

"Mary,  God  only  knows  the  pain  with 
which  I  give  you  up!    Your  image  has  been 
153 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'8 

before  me  ever  since  I  left  the  school  where 
we  parted  on  the  last  day  of  the  term,  when 
I  was  to  go  forth,  a  green  boy,  to  fight  my 
way  in  the  world.  And  when  you  so  kindly 
gave  me  your  '  God-speed '  I  went  out  to  my 
task  as  bravely  as  ever  went  belted  knight  to 
win  honor  or  his  lady's  favor.  I  knew,  even 
then,  what  you  were  to  me;  but  I  trust  I  had 
honor  enough  not  to  try  to  commit  you,  who 
were  so  much  above  me  in  station,  to  any 
words  which  might  seem  to  bind  you, 
although  even  then  I  hoped  you  might  not 
be  indifferent  to  me.  But  when  I  seemed  to 
be  in  a  sure  way  to  rise  in  the  world;  when 
I  came  back  to  Dulltown  and  found  you  so 
much  lovelier  than  I  had  ever  dreamed  of, 
and,  better  still,  as  true  and  good  as  you 
were  fair,  I  felt  that  such  good  fortune  was 
beyond  my  deserts,  that  it  could  not  be  that 
a  poor  widow's  son  was  the  chosen  lover  of 
such  a  one  as  my  Mary!  It  was  too  good  to 
hope  or  believe,  and  I  fear  it  was  better  than 
I  deserved,  for  the  fates  have  but  given  me 
a  view  of  the  Promised  Land,  to  hide  it  again 
in  clouds  where  no  ray  of  light  can  penetrate. 
154 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  DULL  TOWN 

"  Dear  Mary,  you  are  free.  Forget  me  and 
be  happy.  Or  remember  me  as  one  who, 
while  he  would  gladly  die  to  secure  your 
happiness,  cannot  deceive  you  with  vain 
hopes  into  wasting  your  youth  waiting  for 

;<  Your  ruined  and  hopeless  bankrupt, 

"  JOHN  BROWN." 

This  he  reads  with  many  a  "hem,"  and 
has  to  wipe  his  glasses  two  or  three  times, 
because  either  his  indignation  or  some  other 
feeling  is  getting  away  with  him.  Then 
closing  the  letter  and  sealing  it  carefully, 
that  his  much-abused  daughter  may  not 
suspect  that  it  has  been  tampered  with,  he 
sits  down  and  in  cold  blood  writes  to  the 
lover  of  that  daughter  a  letter,  of  which  the 
following  is  a  copy: 

"  DULLTOWN,  BLANK  COUNTY, 

"  STATE  OF . 

"  JOHN  BROWN,  ESQ. 

"  DEAR  SIR:   Having  found  out— nomatter 

how,  but  not  from  my  unnatural  daughter— 

that  you  and  she  have  conspired  to  rob  me 

of  the  one  treasure  I  value  in  this  world, 

155 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

but  also  that  you,  a  co-conspirator  as 
aforesaid,  have  acted  what  the  world  might 
call  an  honorable  part  therein;  now  this  is 
to  inform  you  that,  as  long  as  you  two  are  so 
silly  as  to  like  each  other,  and  as  I  find  you 
to  be  a  bright  and  honorable  young  fellow, 
you  have  my  full  consent  to  marry  whenever 
you  choose,  with  an  old  man's  blessing  to 
boot.  But  I  make  it  one  of  the  conditions 
precedent,  that  if  you  will  go  into  your 
dirty  manufacturing  business,  it  shall  be  in 
this  county,  where  I  can  live  near  you  and 
still  attend  to  my  business. 

"  N.  B.  My  daughter  shall  receive  a  check 
for  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  on  the  day 
of  her  marriage,  which  I  hope  will  be  soon, 
for  I  want  to  see  the  roses  bloom  in  those 
pretty  cheeks  again  before  Christmas. 

"  P.  S.    You  thought  you  were  very  clever, 
did  n't  you?     Why,  bless  your  silly  hearts,  I 
knew  all  about  it  ages  ago!     So  come  home, 
Johnny,  and  I  '11  have  the  fatted  calf  hung  up 
by  the  heels  ready  for  the  prodigal's  return. 
"  Your  future  father-in-law, 
"  THOMAS  VAN  GOULD." 
156 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  DULLTOWN 

And  thus  ended  "  The  Romance  of  Dull- 
town,"  or  rather  there  it  began  in  reality,  for 
a  jollier  and  a  more  perfectly  happy  family 
than  the  Van  Gould-Brown  connection  would 
be  hard  to  find  in  this  world  of  bank  failures, 
mail  robberies,  and  general  "  cussedness." 
"  Long  may  they  wave! " 


157 


FAIRY  GOLD 

BY 

MARY  STEWART  CUTTING 


FAIRY  GOLD 


WHEN  Mr.  William  Belden  walked  out 
of  his  house  one  wet  October  evening 
and  closed  the  hall  door  carefully  behind 
him,  he  had  no  idea  that  he  was  closing  the 
door  on  all  the  habits  of  his  maturer  life,  and 
entering  the  borders  of  a  land  as  far  removed 
from  his  hopes  or  his  imagination  as  the 
country  of  the  Gadarenes. 

He  had  not  wanted  to  go  out  that  evening 
at  all,  not  knowing  what  the  fates  had  in 
store  for  him,  and  being  only  too  conscious 
of  the  comfort  of  the  sitting-room  lounge, 
upon  which,  after  the  manner  of  the  subur 
ban  resident  who  traveleth  daily  by  rail 
ways,  he  had  cast  himself  immediately  after 
the  evening  meal  was  over.  The  lounge 
161 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

was  in  proximity— yet  not  too  close  proximity 
-to  the  lamp  on  the  table,  so  that  one  might 
have  the  pretext  of  reading  to  cover  closed 
eyelids  and  a  general  oblivion  of  passing 
events.  On  a  night  when  a  pouring  rain 
splashed  outside  on  the  pavements  and  the 
tin  roofs  of  the  piazzas,  the  conditions  of 
rest  in  the  cozy  little  room  were  peculiarly 
attractive  to  a  man  who  had  come  home 
draggled  and  wet,  and  with  the  toil  and 
wear  of  a  long  business  day  upon  him.  It 
was  therefore  with  a  sinking  of  the  heart 
that  he  heard  his  wife's  gentle  tones  re 
questing  him  to  wend  his  way  to  the  grocery 
to  purchase  a  pound  of  butter. 

"  I  hate  to  ask  you  to  go,  William,  dear, 
but  there  really  is  not  a  scrap  in  the  house 
for  breakfast,  and  the  butter-man  does  not 
come  until  to-morrow  afternoon,"  she  said 
deprecatingly.  "  It  really  will  only  take  you 
a  few  minutes." 

Mr.  Belden  smothered  a  groan,  or  perhaps 

something  worse.     The  butter  question  was 

a  sore  one,  Mrs.  Belden  taking  only  a  stated 

quantity  of  that  article  a  week,  and  always 

162 


FAIRY  GOLD 

unexpectedly  coming  short  of  it  before  the 
day  of  replenishment,  although  no  argument 
ever  served  to  induce  her  to  increase  the 
original  amount  for  consumption. 

"Cannot  Bridget  go?"  he  asked  weakly, 
gazing  at  the  small,  plump  figure  of  his  wife 
as  she  stood  with  meek  yet  inexorable  eyes 
looking  down  at  him. 

"  Bridget  is  washing  the  dishes,  and  the 
stores  will  be  closed  before  she  can  get  out." 

"  Can't  one  of  the  boys—  He  stopped. 
There  was  in  this  household  a  god  who  ruled 
everything  in  it,  to  whom  all  pleasures  were 
offered  up,  all  individual  desires  sacrificed, 
and  whose  best  good  was  the  greedy  and 
unappreciative  juggernaut  before  whom  Mr. 
Belden  and  his  wife  prostrated  themselves 
daily.  This  idol  was  called  the  children. 
Mr.  Belden  felt  that  he  had  gone  too  far. 

"William!"  said  his  wife  severely,  "I  am 
surprised  at  you.  John  and  Henry  have 
their  lessons  to  get,  and  Willy  has  a  cold;  I 
could  not  think  of  exposing  him  to  the  night 
air,  and  it  is  so  damp,  too!" 

Mr.  Belden  slowly  and  stiffly  rose  from  his 
163 


TALES  _  FROM  McCLURE'S 

reclining  position  on  the  sofa.  There  was  a 
finality  in  his  wife's  tone  before  which  he 
succumbed. 

The  night  air  was  damp.  As  he  walked 
along  the  street  the  water  slopped  around 
his  feet  and  ran  in  rills  down  his  rubber 
coat.  He  did  not  feel  as  contented  as  usual. 
When  he  was  a  youngster,  he  reflected  with 
exaggerated  bitterness,  boys  were  boys,  and 
not  treated  like  precious  pieces  of  porcelain. 
He  did  not  remember  as  a  boy  ever  having 
any  special  consideration  shown  him,  yet  he 
had  been  both  happy  and  healthy,  healthier 
perhaps  than  his  overtended  brood  at  home. 
In  his  day  it  had  been  popularly  supposed 
that  nothing  could  hurt  a  boy.  He  heaved 
a  sigh  over  the  altered  times,  and  then 
coughed  a  little,  for  he  had  a  cold  as  well  as 
Willy. 

The  streets  were  favorable  to  silent  medi 
tation,  for  there  was  no  one  out  in  them. 
The  boughs  of  the  trees  swished  backward 
and  forward  in  the  storm,  and  the  puddles 
at  the  crossings  reflected  the  dismal  yellow 
glare  of  the  street-lamps.  Every  one  was 
164 


FAIRY  GOLD 

housed  to-night  in  the  pretty  detached  cot 
tages  he  passed,  and  he  thought  with  grow 
ing  wrath  of  the  trivial  errand  on  which  he 
had  been  sent.  "  In  happy  homes  he  saw  the 
light,"  but  none  of  the  high  purpose  of  the 
youth  of  "  Excelsior  "  fame  stirred  his  heart 
—rather  a  dull  sense  of  failure  from  all  high 
things.  What  did  his  life  amount  to  anyway, 
that  he  should  count  one  thing  more  trivial 
than  another?  He  loved  his  wife  and  chil 
dren  dearly,  but  he  remembered  a  time  when 
his  ambition  had  not  thought  of  being  satis 
fied  with  the  daily  grind  for  a  living  and  a 
dreamless  sleep  at  night. 

" '  Our  life  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forget 
ting/  "  he  thought  grimly,  "  in  quite  a  differ 
ent  way  from  what  Wordsworth  meant." 
He  had  been  one  of  the  foremost  in  his 
class  at  college,  an  orator,  an  athlete,  a 
favorite  in  society  and  with  men.  Great 
things  had  been  predicted  for  him.  Then 
he  had  fallen  in  love  with  Nettie;  a  profes 
sional  career  seemed  to  place  marriage  at 
too  great  a  distance,  and  he  had  joyfully,  yet 
with  some  struggles  in  his  protesting  intel- 
165 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

lect,  accepted  a  position  that  was  offered  to 
him— one  of  those  positions  which  never 
change,  in  which  men  die  still  unpromoted 
save  when  a  miracle  intervenes.  It  was  not 
so  good  a  position  for  a  family  of  six  as  it 
had  been  for  a  family  of  two,  but  he  did  not 
complain.  He  and  Nettie  went  shabby,  but 
the  children  were  clothed  in  the  best,  as  was 
their  due. 

He  was  too  wearied  at  night  to  read  any 
thing  but  the  newspapers,  and  the  gentle 
domestic  monotony  was  not  inspiring.  He 
and  Nettie  never  went  out  in  the  evenings; 
the  children  could  not  be  left  alone.  He 
met  his  friends  on  the  train  in  that  diurnal 
journey  to  and  from  the  great  city,  and  she 
occasionally  attended  a  church  tea;  but  their 
immediate  and  engrossing  world  seemed  to 
be  made  up  entirely  of  persons  under  thir 
teen  years  of  age.  They  had  dwelt  in  the 
place  almost  ever 'since  their  marriage,  re 
spected  and  liked,  but  with  no  real  social  life. 
If  Mr.  Belden  thought  of  the  years  to  come, 
he  may  be  pardoned  an  unwonted  sinking  of 
the  heart. 

166 


FAIRY  GOLD 

It  was  while  indulging  in  these  reflections 
that  he  mechanically  purchased  the  pound 
of  butter,  which  he  could  not  help  compar 
ing  with  Shylock's  pound  of  flesh, 'so  much 
of  life  had  it  taken  out  of  him,  and  then 
found  himself  stepping  upon  the  platform  of 
the  station,  led  by  his  engrossing  thoughts 
to  pass  the  street-corner  and  tread  the  path 
most  familiar  to  him.  He  turned  with  an 
exclamation  to  retrace  his  way,  when  a  man 
pacing  leisurely  up  and  down,  umbrella  in 
hand,  caught  sight  of  him. 

"Is  that  you,  Belden?"  said  the  stranger. 
"  What  are  you  doing  down  here  to-night?" 

"I  came  out  on  an  errand  for  my  wife," 
said  Mr.  Belden,  sedately.  He  recognized 
the  man  as  a  young  lawyer  much  identified 
with  politics,  a  mere  acquaintance;  yet  it 
was  a  night  to  make  any  speaking  animal 
seem  a  friend,  and  Mr.  Belden  took  a  couple 
of  steps  along  beside  him. 

"Waiting  for  a  train?"  he  said. 

"Oh,  thunder,  yes!"  said  Mr.  Groper, 
throwing  away  the  stump  of  a  cigar.  "I 
have  been  waiting  for  the  last  half-hour  for 
167 


TALES  FROM  McGLURE'S 

the  train;  it  's  late,  as  usual.  There  's  a 
whole  deputation  from  Barnet  on  board,  due 
at  the  Reform  meeting  in  town  to-night,  and 
I  'm  part  of  the  committee  to  meet  them 
here." 

"  Where  is  the  other  part  of  the  commit 
tee?"  asked  Mr.  Belden. 

"  Oh,  Jim  Crane  went  up  to  the  hall  to  see 
about  something,  and  Connors  has  n't  showed 
up  at  all;  I  suppose  the  rain  kept  him  back. 
What  kind  of  a  meeting  we  're  going  to  have 
I  don't  know.  Say,  Belden,  I  'm  not  up  to 
this  sort  of  thing.  I  wish  you  'd  stay  and 
help  me  out;  there  's  no  end  of  swells  com 
ing  down,  more  your  style  than  mine." 

"Why,  man  alive,  I  can't  do  anything  for 
you,"  said  Mr.  Belden.  "  These  carriages,  I 
see,  are  waiting  for  the  delegation,  and  here 
comes  the  train  now;  you  '11  get  along  all 
right." 

He  waited  as  the  train  slowed  into  the 
station,  smiling  anew  at  little  Groper's  per 
turbation.  He  was  quite  curious  to  see  the 
arrivals.  Barnet  had  been  the  home  of  his 
youth,  and  there  might  be  some  one  whom 
168 


FAIRY  GOLD 

he  knew.  He  had  half  intended,  earlier  in 
the  day,- to  go  himself  to  the  Reform  meet 
ing,  but  a  growing  spirit  of  inaction  had 
made  him  give  up  the  idea.  Yes,  there  was 
quite  a  car-load  of  people  getting  out— 
ladies,  too. 

"Why,  Will  Belden!"  called  out  a  voice 
from  the  party.  A  tall  fellow  in  a  long 
ulster  sprang  forward  to  grasp  his  hand. 
:<  You  don't  say  it 's  yourself  come  down  to 
meet  us!  Here  we  all  are,  Johnson,  Clem- 
merding,  Albright,  Cranston— all  the  old  set. 
Rainsford,  you  've  heard  of  my  cousin,  Will 
Belden.  My  wife  and  Miss  Wakeman  are  be 
hind  here;  but  we  '11  do  all  the  talking  after 
ward  if  you  '11  only  get  us  off  for  the  hall 


now." 


"  Well,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Henry,"  said 
Mr.  Belden,  heartily.  He  thrust  the  pound 
of  butter  hastily  into  a  large  pocket  of  his 
mackintosh,  and  found  himself  shaking 
hands  with  a  score  of  men.  He  had  only 
time  to  assist  his  cousin's  wife  and  the 
beautiful  Miss  Wakeman  into  a  carriage, 
and  in  another  moment  they  were  all  rolling 
169 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

away  toward  the  town  hall,  with  little  Mr. 
Groper  running  frantically  after  them, 
ignored  by  the  visitors,  and  peacefully 
forgotten  by  his  friend. 

The  public  hall  of  the  little  town — which 
called  itself  a  city— was  all  ablaze  with  light 
as  the  party  entered  it,"  and  well  filled  not 
withstanding  the  weather.  There  were  flow 
ers  on  the  platform,  where  the  seats  for  the 
distinguished  guests  were  placed,  and  a  gen 
eral  air  of  radiance  and  joyful  import  pre 
vailed.  It  was  a  gathering  of  men  from  all 
political  parties,  concerned  in  the  welfare  of 
the  State.  Great  measures  were  at  stake, 
and  the  election  of  governor  of  immediate 
importance.  The  name  of  Judge  Belden  of 
Barnet  was  prominently  mentioned.  He  had 
not  been  able  to  attend  on  this  particular 
occasion,  but  his  son  had  come  with  a  dele 
gation  from  the  county  town,  twenty  miles 
away,  to  represent  his  interests.  On  Mr. 
William  Belden  devolved  the  task  of  intro 
ducing  the  visitors;  a  most  congenial  one, 
he  suddenly  found  it  to  be. 

His  friends  rallied  around  him  as  people 
170 


FAIRY   GOLD 

are  apt  to  do  with  one  of  their  own  kind 
when  found  in  a  foreign  country.  They 
called  him  Will,  as  they  used  to,  and  slapped 
him  on  the  shoulder  in  affectionate  abandon. 
Those  among  the  group  who  had  not  known 
him  before  were  anxious  to  claim  acquain 
tance  on  the  strength  of  his  fame,  which,  it 
seemed,  still  survived  him  in  his  native  town. 
It  must  not  be  supposed  that  he  had  not  seen 
either  his  cousin  or  his  friends  during  his 
sojourn  away  from  them;  on  the  contrary,  he 
had  met  them  once  or  so  in  two  or  three 
years,  in  the  street  or  on  the  ferry-boat,  - 
though  they  traveled  by  different  roads, 
-but  he  had  then  been  but  a  passing  inter 
est  in  the  midst  of  pressing  business.  To 
night  he  was  the  only  one.  of  their  kind  in  a 
strange  place— his  cousin  loved  him,  they  all 
loved  him.  The  expedition  had  the  senti 
ment  of  a  frolic  under  the  severer  political 
aspect. 

In  the  welcome  to  the  visitors  by  the  home 
committee  Mr.  Belden  also  received  his  part, 
in  their  surprised  recognition  of  him,  almost 
amounting  to  a  discovery. 
171 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

"  We  had  no  idea  that  you  were  a  nephew 
of  Judge  Belden,"  one  of  them  said  to  him, 
speaking  for  his  colleagues,  who  stood 
near. 

Mr.  William  Belden  bowed  and  smiled;  as 
a  gentleman,  and  a  rather  reticent  one,  it 
had  never  occurred  to  him  to  parade  his 
family  connections.  His  smile  might  mean 
anything.  It  made  the  good  committeeman, 
who  was  rich  and  full  of  power,  feel  a  little 
uncomfortable,  as  he  tried  to  cover  his  em 
barrassment  with  effusive  cordiality.  In 
the  background  stood  Mr.  Groper,  wet,  and 
breathing  hard,  but  plainly  full  of  admiration 
for  his  tall  friend,  and  the  position  he  held 
as  the  center  of  the  group.  The  visitors 
referred  all  arrangements  to  him. 

At  last  they  filed  onto  the  platform,  the 
two  cousins  together. 

'*  You  must  find  a  place  for  the  girls,"  said 
Henry  Belden,  with  a  peculiar  boyish  giggle 
that  his  cousin  remembered  so  well.  "By 
George,  they  would  come;  could  n't  keep  'em 
at  home  after  they  once  got  Jim  Shore  to  say 
it  was  all  right.  Of  course  Marie  Wakeman 
172 


FAIRY  GOLD 

started  it;  she  said  she  was  bound  to  go  to 
a  political  meeting  and  sit  on  the  platform; 
arguing  was  n't  a  bit  of  use.  When  she  got 
Clara  on  her  side  I  knew  that  I  was  doomed. 
Now  you  could  n't  get  them  to  do  a  thing  of 
this  kind  at  home;  but  take  a  woman  out  of 
her  natural  sphere,  and  she  ignores  conven 
tionalities,  just  like  a  girl  in  a  bathing-suit. 
There  they  are,  seated  over  in  that  corner. 
I  'm  glad  that  they  are  hidden  from  the 
audience  by  the  pillar.  Of  course  there  's 
that  fool  of  a  Jim,  too,  with  Marie." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  she 's  at  it  yet?  " 
said  his  cousin  William. 

" '  At  it  yet '!  She 's  never  stopped  for  a 
moment  since  you  kissed  her  that  night  on 
the  hotel  piazza  after  the  hop,  under  old 
Mrs.  Trelawney's  window— do  you  remember 
that,  Will?" 

Mr.  William  Belden  did  indeed  remember 
it;  it  was  a  salute  that  had  echoed  around 
their  little  world,  leading,  strangely  enough, 
to  the  capitulation  of  another  heart— it  had 
won  him  his  wife.  But  the  little  intimate 
conversation  was  broken  off  as  the  cousins 
173 


TALES  FROM-McCLURE'S 

took  the  places  allotted  to  them,  and  the 
business  of  the  meeting  began. 

If  he  were  not  the  chairman,  he  was  ap 
pealed  to  so  often  as  to  almost  serve  in  that 
capacity.  He  became  interested  in  the  pro 
ceedings,  and  in  the  speeches  that  were 
made;  none  of  them,  however,  quite  covered 
the  ground  as  he  understood  it.  His  mind 
unconsciously  formulated  propositions  as  the 
flow  of  eloquence  went  on.  It  therefore 
seemed  only  right  and  fitting  toward  the 
end  of  the  evening,  when  it  became  evident 
that  his  Honor  the  Mayor  was  not  going  to 
appear,  that  our  distinguished  fellow-citizen, 
Mr.  William  Bel  den,  nephew  of  Judge  Belden 
of  Barnet,  should  be  asked  to  represent  the 
interests  of  the  county  in  a  speech,  and 
that  he  should  accept  the  invitation. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  silent  before  the 
assembly,  and  then  all  the  old  fire  that  had 
lain  dormant  for  so  long  blazed  forth  in  the 
speech  that  electrified  the  audience,  was 
printed  in  all  the  papers  afterward,  and 
fitted  into  a  political  pamphlet. 

He  began  with  a  comprehensive  statement 
174 


FAIRY  GOLD 

of  facts,  he  drew  large  and  logical  deductions 
from  them,  and  then  lit  up  the  whole  subject 
with  those  brilliant  flashes  of  wit  and  sar 
casm  for  which  he  had  been  famous  in  bygone 
days.  More  than  that,  a  power  unknown  be 
fore  had  come  to  him;  he  felt  the  real  know 
ledge  and  grasp  of  affairs  which  youth  had 
denied  him,  and  it  was  with  an  exultant 
thrill  that  his  voice  rang  through  the 
crowded  hall  and  stirred  the  hearts  of  men. 
For  the  moment  they  felt  as  he  felt  and 
thought  as  he  thought,  and  a  storm  of  ap 
plause  arose  as  he  ended— applause  that 
grew  and  grew  until  a  few  more  pithy 
words  were  necessary  from  the  orator  be 
fore  silence  could  be  restored. 

He  made  his  way  to  the  back  of  the  hall 
for  some  water,  and  then,  half  exhausted, 
yet  tingling  still  from  the  excitement, 
dropped  into  an  empty  chair  by  the  side  of 
Miss  Wakeman. 

"  Well  done,  Billy,"  she  said,  giving  him  a 

little  approving  tap  with  her  fan.     "You 

were  just  fine."     She  gave  him  an  upward 

glance  from  her  large,  dark  eyes.     "  Do  you 

175 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

know,  you  have  n't  spoken  to  me  to-night,  nor 
shaken  hands  with  me?" 

"  Let  us  shake  hands  now,"  he  said,  smil 
ing,  flushed  with  success,  as  he  looked  into 
the  eyes  of  this  very  pretty  woman. 

"I  shall  take  off  my  glove  first— such  old 
friends  as  we* are!  It  must  be  a  real  cere 
mony." 

She  laid  a  soft,  white,  dimpled  hand,  cov 
ered  with  glistening  rings,  in  his  out 
stretched  palm,  and  gazed  at  him  with 
coquettish  plaintiveness.  "  It 's  so  lovely  to 
see  you  again!  Have  you  forgotten  the 
night  you  kissed  me?"  | 

"  I  have  thought  of  it  daily,"  he  replied, 
giving  her  hand  a  hearty  squeeze.  They 
both  laughed,  and  he  took  a  surreptitious 
peep  at  her  from  under  his  eyelids.  Marie 
Wakeman!  Yes,  truly,  the  same,  and  with 
the  same  old  tricks.  He  had  been  married 
for  nearly  fourteen  years,  his  children  were 
half  grown,  he  had  long  since  given  up 
youthful  f riskiness;  but  she  was  "at  it" 
still.  Why,  she  had  been  older  than  he 
when  they  were  boy  and  girl;  she  must  be 
176 


FAIRY  GOLD 

for—  He  gazed  at  her  soft,  rounded  olive 
cheek,  and  quenched  the  thought. 

"And  you  are  very  happy?"  she  pursued 
with  tender  solicitude.  "  Nettie  makes  you 
a  perfect  wife,  I  suppose." 

"Perfect,"  he  assented  gravely. 

"  And  you  have  n't  missed  me  at  all?" 

"  Can  you  ask?  "  It  was  the  way  in  which 
all  men  spoke  to  Marie  Wakeman,  married  or 
single,  rich  or  poor,  one  with  another.  He 
laughed  inwardly  at  his  lapse  into  the  ex 
pected  tone.  "  I  feel  that  I  really  breathe 
for  the  first  time  in  years,  now  that  I  'm  with 
you  again.  But  how  is  it  that  you  are  not 
married?" 

"What,  after  I  had  known  you?"  She 
gave  him  a  reproachful  glance.  "  And  you 
were  so  cruel  to  me— as  soon  as  you  had 
made  your  little  Nettie  jealous  you  cared  for 
me  no  longer.  Look  what  I  've  declined, 
too!"  She  indicated  Jim  Shore,  leaning 
disconsolately  against  the  cornice,  chewing 
his  mustache.  "Now  don't  give  him  your 
place  unless  you  really  want  to;  well,  if 
you  're  tired  of  me  already — thank  you  ever 
177 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

so  much,  and  I  am  proud  of  you  to-night, 
Billy!" 

Her  lustrous  eyes  dwelt  on  him  lingeringly 
as  he  left  her;  he  smiled  back  into  them. 
The  lines  around  her  mouth  were  a  little 
hard;  she  reminded  him  indefinably  of 
"She";  but  she  was  a  handsome  woman, 
and  he  had  enjoyed  the  encounter.  The 
sight  of  her  brought  back  so  vividly  the 
springtime  of  life,  his  hopes,  the  pangs  of 
love,  the  joy  that  was  his  when  Nettie  was 
won;  he  felt  an  overpowering  throb  of  ten 
derness  for  the  wife  at  home  who  had  been 
his  early  dream. 

The  last  speeches  were  over,  but  Mr. 
William  Belden's  triumph  had  not  ended. 
As  the  acknowledged  orator  of  the  evening 
he  had  an  ovation  afterward;  introductions 
and  unlimited  hand-shakings  were  in  order. 

He  was  asked  to  speak  at  a  select  political 
dinner  the  next  week,  to  speak  for  the  hos 
pital  fund,  to  speak  for  the  higher  education 
of  woman.  Led  by  a  passing  remark  of 
Henry  Belden's  to  infer  that  his  cousin  was 
a  whist-player  of  parts,  a  prominent  social 
178 


FAIRY  GOLD 

magnate  at  once  invited  him  to  join  the 
party  at  his  house  on  one  of  their  whist 
evenings. 

"  My  wife,  er— will  have  great  pleasure  in 
calling  on  Mrs.  Belden,"  said  the  magnate. 
"We  did  not  know  that  we  had  a  good 
whist-player  among  us.  This  evening  has 
indeed  been  a  revelation  in  many  ways— in 
many  ways.  You  would  have  no  objection 
to  taking  a  prominent  part  in  politics  if  you 
were  called  upon?  A  reform  mayor  is  sadly 
needed  in  our  city— sadly  needed.  Your 
connection  with  Judge  Belden  would  give 
great  weight  to  any  proposition  of  that  kind. 
But  of  course  all  this  is  in  the  future." 

Mr.  Belden  heard  his  name  whispered,  in 
another  direction,  in  connection  with  the 
cashiership  of  the  new  bank  which  was  to 
be  built.  The  cashiership  and  the  mayoralty 
might  be  nebulous  honors,  but  it  was  sweet 
for  once  to  be  recognized  for  what  he  was— 
a  man  of  might,  a  man  of  talent  and  of  honor. 

There  was  a  hurried  rush  for  the  train  at 
the  last  on  the  part  of  the  visitors.     Mr. 
William   Belden   snatched   his   mackintosh 
179 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

from  the  peg  whereon  it  had  hung  through 
out  the  evening,  and  went  with  the  crowd, 
talking  and  laughing  in  buoyant  exuberance 
of  spirits.  The  night  had  cleared;  the  moon 
was  rising,  and  poured  a  flood  of  light  upon 
the  wet  streets.  It  was  a  different  world 
from  the  one  he  had  traversed  earlier  in  the 
evening.  He  walked  home  with  Miss  Wake- 
man's  exaggeratedly  tender  "  Good-by,  dear 
Billy!"  ringing  in  his  ears,  to  provoke  irre 
pressible  smiles.  The  pulse  of  a  free  life, 
where  men  lived  instead  of  vegetating,  was 
in  his  veins.  His  footstep  gave  forth  a 
ringing  sound  from  the  pavement;  he  felt 
himself  stalwart,  alert,  his  brain  rejoicing 
in  its  sense  of  power.  It  was  even  with  no 
sense  of  guilt  that  ha  heard  the  church 
clocks  striking  twelve  as  he  reached  the 
house  where  his  wife  had  been  awaiting  his 
return  for  four  hours. 

She  was  sitting  up  for  him,  as  he  knew  by 
the  light  in  the  parlor  window.  He  could 
See  her  through  the  half-closed  blinds  as  she 
sat  by  the  table,  a  magazine  in  her  lap,  her 
attitude,  unknown  to  herself,  betraying  a 
180 


FAIRY  GOLD 

listless  depression.  After  all,  is  a  woman 
glad  to  have  all  her  aspirations  and  desires 
confined  within  four  walls?  She  may  love 
her  cramped  quarters,  to  be  sure,  but  can 
she  always  forget  that  they  are  cramped? 
To  what  does  a  wife  descend  after  the 
bright  dreams  of  her  girlhood!  Does  she 
really  like  above  all  things  to  be  absorbed  in 
the  daily  consumption  of  butter,  and  the 
children's  clothes?  or  is  she  absorbed  in 
these  things  because  the  man  who  was  to 
have  widened  the  horizon  of  her  life  only 
limits  it  by  his  own  decadence? 

She  rose  to  meet  her  husband  as  she  heard 
his  key  in  the  lock.  She  had  exchanged  her 
evening  gown  for  a  loose,  trailing  white 
wrapper,  and  her  fair  hair  was  arranged  for 
the  night  in  a  long  braid.  Her  husband  had 
a  smile  on  his  face. 

:<You  look  like  a  girl  again,"  he  said 
brightly,  as  he  stooped  and  kissed  her. 
"No,  don't  turn  out  the  light;  come  in  and 
sit  down  a  while  longer;  I  've  ever  so  much 
to  tell  you.  You  can't  guess  where  I  Ve 
been  this  evening." 

181 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

"At  the  political  meeting,"  she  said 
promptly. 

"How  on  earth  did  you  know?" 

"  The  doctor  came  here  to  see  Willy,  and 
he  told  me  he  saw  you  on  the  way.  I  'm 
glad  you  did  go,  William;  I  was  worrying  be 
cause  I  had  sent  you  out;  I  did  not  realize 
until  later  what  a  night  it  was." 

"  Well,  I  am  very  glad  that  you  did  send 
me,"  said  her  husband.  He  lay  back  in  his 
chair,  flushed  and  smiling  at  the  recollection. 
"You  ought  to  have  been  there,  too;  you 
would  have  liked  it.  What  will  you  say  if 
I  tell  you  that  I  made  a  speech, — yes,  it  is 
quite  true, — and  was  applauded  to  the  echo? 
This  town  has  just  waked  up  to  the  fact  that 
I  live  in  it.  And  Henry  sail— but  there,  I  '11 
have  to  tell  you  the  whole  thing,  or  you  can't 
appreciate  it." 

His  wife  leaned  on  the  arm  of  his  chair, 
watching  his  animated  face  fondly,  as  he 
recounted  the  adventures  of  the  night.  He 
pictured  the  scene  vividly  and  with  a  strong 
sense  of  humor. 

"  And  you  don't  say  that  Marie  Wakeman 
182 


FAIRY  GOLD 

is  the  same  as  ever?"  she  interrupted,  with 
a  flash  of  special  interest.  "  Oh,  William! " 

"  She  called  me  Billy."  He  laughed  anew 
at  the  thought.  "Upon  my  word,  Nettie, 
she  beats  anything  I  ever  saw  or  heard  of." 

"Did  she  remind  you  of  the  time  you 
kissed  her?" 

"  Yes! "  Their  eyes  met  in  amused  recog 
nition  of  the  past. 

"Is  she  as  handsome  as  ever?" 

"Urn— yes— I  think  so.  She  is  n't  as 
pretty  as  you  are." 

"  Oh,  Will! "     She  blushed  and  dimpled. 

"I  declare,  it  is  true!"  ,  He  gazed  at  her 
with  genuine  admiration.  "  What  has  come 
over  you  to-night,  Nettie?  You  look  like  a 
girl  again." 

"  And  you  were  not  sorry,  when  you  saw 
her,  that— that— " 

"  Sorry!  I  have  been  thinking  all  the  way 
home  how  glad  I  was  to  have  won  my  sweet 
wife.  But  we  must  n't  stay  shut  up  at  home 
as  much  as  we  have;  it 's  not  good  for  either 
of  us.  We  are  to  be  asked  to  join  the  whist 
club— what  do  you  think  of  that?  You  used 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

to  be  a  little  card  fiend  once  upon  a  time,  I 
remember." 

She  sighed.  "It  is  so  long  since  I  have 
been  anywhere!  I  'm  afraid  I  have  n't  any 
clothes,  Will.  I  suppose  I  might—" 

"  What,  dear?" 

"Take  the  money  I  had  put  aside  for 
Mary's  next  quarter's  music  lessons;  I  do 
really  believe  a  little  rest  would  do  her 
good." 

"It  would— it  would,"  said  Mr.  Belden, 
with  suspicious  eagerness.  Mary's  after- 
dinner  practising-hour  had  tinged  much  of 
his  existence  with  gall.  "  I  insist  that  Mary 
shall  have  a  rest.  And  you  shall  join  the 
reading  society  now.  Let  us  consider  our 
selves  a  little  as  well  as  the  children.  It 's 
really  best  for  them,  too.  Have  n't  we  im 
mortal  souls  as  well  as  they?  Can  we  ex 
pect  them  to  seek  the  honeydew  of  paradise 
while  they  see  us  contented  to  feed  on  the 
grass  of  the  field?" 

;<  You  call  yourself  an  orator! "  she  scoffed. 

He  drew  her  to  him  by  one  end  of  the  long 
braid,  and  solemnly  kissed  her.  Then  he 
184 


FAIRY  GOLD 

went  into  the  hall,  and  took  something  from 
the  pocket  of  his  mackintosh,  which  he 
placed  in  his  wife's  hand — a  little  wooden 
dish  covered  with  a  paper,  through  which 
shone  a  bright  yellow  substance— the  pound 
of  butter,  a  lump  of  gleaming  fairy  gold,  the 
quest  of  which  had  changed  a  poor,  common 
place  existence  into  one  scintillating  with 
magic  possibilities. 

Fairy  gold,  indeed,  cannot  be  coined  into 
marketable  eagles.  Mr.  William  Belden 
might  never  achieve  either  the  mayoralty 
or  the  cashiership,  but  he  had  gained  that 
of  which  money  is  only  a  trivial  accessory. 
The  recognition  of  men,  the  flashing  of  high 
thought  to  high  thought,  the  .claim  of 
brotherhood  in  the  work  of  the  world,  and 
the  generous  social  intercourse  that  warms 
the  earth— all  these  were  to  be  his.  Not 
even  his  young  ambition  had  promised  a 
wider  field,  not  the  gold  of  the  Indies  could 
buy  him  more  of  honor  and  respect. 

At  home  also  the  spell  worked.  He  had 
but  to  speak  the  word,  to  name  the  thing, 
and  Nettie  embodied  his  thought.  He  called 
185 


TALES  FROM  McCLURE'S 

her  young,  and  happy  youth  smiled  from  her 
clear  eyes;  beautiful,  and  a  blushing  loveli 
ness  enveloped  her;  clever,  and  her  ready 
mind  leaped  to  match  with  his  in  thought 
and  study;  dear,  and  love  touched  her  with 
its  transforming  fire  and  breathed  of  long- 
forgotten  things. 

If  men  only  knew  what  they  could  make 
of  the  women  who  love  them!  but  they  do 
not,  as  the  plodding,  faded  matrons  who  sit 
and  sew  by  their  household  fires  testify  to 
us  daily. 

Happy  indeed  is  he  who  can  create  a 
paradise  by  naming  it! 


186 


UAI 

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